


CIRCLE I: The Broken Circle

by artisticabandon



Series: The Circle [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Weather, Coma, Drama, Dysfunctional Relationships, Family Drama, Gen, Hospitals, Major Character Injury, Medical, Mystery, Mystery Character(s), POV First Person, Permanent Injury, Suspense, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisticabandon/pseuds/artisticabandon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Estranged from the world he once found familiar, Dick Grayson finds himself called back at the worst possible time. Gotham is broken. The Bat has fallen. Can he find his place in time to sort things out and make it right? To unravel the knots that tie everything together before he too becomes a victim?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That unexpected knock on the door is never good. But then again, this is far from a normal day...

As long as I'd known him, Bruce has had this ring on his finger.

It wasn't flashy. It wasn't...gaudy. It was, in fact, just about the most tasteful thing there was to the whole Playboy persona. It just...was. Because I'd never seen him without it.

Almost never.

But I was getting to that. I shouldn't get ahead of myself.

Anyway.

It was one of the first things that caught my eye, when I'd first met Bruce. I'd come to him fresh out of Juvie, fresh off the streets of Gotham. I was a street-wise, worldly-wise brat for all the wrong reasons, in all the wrong ways. I'd just lost my parents, he was trying to form a 'bond', and all I could think about was what I had to do to survive to the next day,

That's why I saw only the dollar signs at first. For all of the ring's tastefulness, I knew immediately what a valuable thing was when I saw it. It was only later, as I grew to know Bruce, that I realized the truth. That sometimes, value has little to do with money, but with sentiment. The ring was treasured not for its worth, but for whose it was.

It was his father's, and his grandfather's before that.

Still, Bruce never told me the full story of how he acquired the ring. He never had to. It was enough for me to hear the quiet awe in his voice as he spoke of the heirloom's place in his family. It was enough.

More than enough.

I also saw how Bruce treated the ring. The way it always shined in the light, the way it was always so carefully polished. He had always taken such good care of it. When the rest of the world was falling apart, that ring remained in good hands...on good hands. Hands that had shaped and molded me, made me what I was, made me all the better for it. For knowing _him_.

Much as I'd hated to admit it, most of the time.

But the ring...was always a part of Bruce. Never the Bat. Too much of an identifying feature, I supposed. But it was always the first thing that went back on, after the cowl was down and the night was over. Always. I'd watched him often enough to know.

Always.

Until now.

Alfred had come to see me. I still wasn't sure how he even found me. Not even the Oracle had been able to do it. I'd been careful to make sure of that when I first came here. But now here he was regardless. Here, in front of me, staring at me with something in his eyes I dared not define.

That's probably why it was he who reached out first. Literally. He took my hands, placed the ring in them, curled my numb fingers over it, and uttered the words that shattered my world:

_"I— There's been an accident. Master Bruce— He— He wanted you to have this."_

It was the first time in my life that I'd ever heard Alfred stumble over his words. And I didn't ever want to hear it again.


	2. Tensions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation between these two is now...something of a minefield.

I looked up at Alfred, still standing patiently on my doorstep, and abruptly felt dizzy. How much time had passed, I wondered, while I'd been wool-gathering?

Suddenly Alfred was there, arm around my shoulders, supporting me. He helped me walk back inside, back to the couch, and then to sit, and eased my head against the back of the couch. And the entire time, I could only stare at him, head still spinning, wondering what on earth was going on. It was like the world was playing one big trick on me...but if it was, could it please stop now? This wasn't funny anymore.

"A—A—Alfred?"

He smiled at me then, although the smile never reached the burdened eyes. "It's alright, my boy." He patted my shoulder and stood with enviable ease, especially for a man his age. "Now, stay right there, young man. I'll make you a cup of coffee. I think you are in need of one right now."

I nodded numbly, then watched him go at it. All the while, I was thinking to myself that I didn't really need a cup of coffee. I needed... To be honest, I wasn't sure what I needed, but I was pretty sure I wasn't going to find it at the bottom of a ceramic mug.

Or in the ring still clenched in my cold hands.

Instead I could only sit here on the couch, listening to the sounds of Alfred bustling about in my kitchen, and hope for answers. My mind was whirling, thoughts bouncing from one end of my skull to the other, until it was almost painful. And all of it centered around one thing: the ring. Why had Bruce finally let himself be parted from his ring? And why had he given it to me, of all people? To _me?_ To the one person he'd rejected, on that fateful day all those years ago? What _right_ did he have to expect everything to be "okay" with this one gesture of...goodness knows what?

Alfred returned then, nudging me out of my dark thoughts and memories before I could take them too far by placing the hot mug of coffee in the fingers of my right hand, the hand not holding onto that damned ring. I held the mug stiffly for a long moment, then looked up. "A—Alfred? What's going on?"

The elderly major-domo smiled gently. I couldn't help but notice it still didn't reach his eyes. "If it is that warm to your hands, Master Dick, imagine how good it will feel down your throat. I will not explain nor take my leave until you at least take a sip."

I tried to hide exactly how much I flinched to be called that again. Not just the whole "Master Dick" thing, but just "Dick" in general. I hadn't gone by that name in...years. And Alfred being Alfred, he'd no doubt known precisely the timeframe involved and had calculated amount of hurt he would inflict by using it. For very good reasons. That name belonged to a part of my life of my life that I hadn't wanted to revisit from the moment I'd left Gotham behind me.

And now here some of those reasons were regardless, sitting on my couch, waiting for me to take a sip of a cup of coffee.

I gave him a tight smile of my own, and this time I didn't bother to conceal its bitterness. "That's not much of a threat, Al. Much as I like your cup's of coffee, you've no right to show up here after all this time." Only then did I let myself take a sip. A small one. And waited.

This time, the smile was bleak. And it _did_ reach his eyes. "He never gave up looking for you, you know. None of us did."

I snorted. I believed that about as much as I believed I could fly. Which I couldn't. "I told him not to," I returned flatly. "I told _all_ of you not to." Mentally, I started counting down to the expected lecture.

"Really, Master Dick, you should know _better_ than to walk _out_ of our lives without so much as a note or goodbye, and not expect us to _look_."

 _Bingo. Lecture found and delivered._ And it was just as crass and as unwelcome as I'd expected. I put the mug down on the coffee table, having no appetite anymore for coffee, no matter who had made it. "For the record, Al? I didn't walk. I was _pushed_. You ought to know that as well as I do. You were  there, remember?" Again, I didn't bother to hide the bitterness that lingered, even after all these years, but I was still surprised at the depths it went to inside me. Or maybe I shouldn't have been. Some wounds do fester, after all, no matter what doctoring one does.

He stared back me, something almost sad in his eyes. "I remember," he said finally, softly. Then he sighed and stood, brushing down his clothes, no doubt to remove all traces that he'd ever been in my apartment from his person. "I shall inform the Master if he wakes that my duty has been done, then. Good day, Master Dick," he informed me stiffly as he made to leave.

I just sat and stared, stunned, as he turned to go, to walk away. Say what—? Suddenly I was standing as well, and ignoring how much it cost to get on my feet that quickly. " _If_ he wakes? What do you mean, 'if'?"

Alfred turned back to face me, his bearing stiff, his face equally hard and unyielding. His voice was no better. "I thought you had no desire to hear about him."

I didn't. I just wasn't quite sure I really wanted him dead either, if it wasn't me doing it. I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to swallow down the anger, the pride. For now. It was even harder to insert just the right note of beseeching need in my voice, but I managed. Barely. "Tell me, Alfred. Please."

Alfred stared at me for a long moment. Then something seemed to flicker through his eyes, and he began to speak. "He was mugged."

I stared right back. "Mugged," I said flatly, patently unbelieving. All these years as the Bat, and the man was _mugged?_ "You're kidding me."

He shook his head. "After a long night on patrol, he went out in the morning, apparently to a WayneTech conference. He never made it. A GCPD patrol found him a few hours later. They have it down as a car-jacking gone tragically wrong."

There was something unspoken in that, something that Alfred wasn't saying. I'd be willing to bet that Alfred had suspicions it _wasn't_ a car-jacking in truth, but wasn't saying anything. At least not to me – not that I minded. That wasn't my life anymore, and I had absolutely no desire to go back there again. For anyone. Not even for Bruce. Especially not for Bruce.

Still, I nodded faintly for Alfred's benefit, to show him I'd heard – both what he'd said and hadn't said. Yet simply because I didn't really care didn't mean I didn't have the manners enough to ask what was expected. "And now? How is he?"

Alfred sighed and shrugged. "Not good, I'm afraid. It doesn't look good. The coma is very deep, the doctors' say."

 _Coma..._ I sank back down into the sofa, that part of me that had never quite managed to fully leave Gotham behind feeling numb once more. But then a thought struck me, and I looked up and narrowed my eyes. "Coma. Right. Then how come you _knew_ he wanted me to have that ring of his?"

Alfred drew himself up, meeting my gaze directly, not backing down one iota. "He had to have surgery first, young man. He regained consciousness just before he went in, long enough to convey his wishes to me in this matter. I could do no less than to carry said wishes out, as he fell into a coma straight after the surgery and shows no signs as yet of coming out." He sniffed disdainfully. "Rest assured that if he _had_ awoken, there would have been no need for me to find you." In other words, it was never Alfred's choice to be here.

Considering that if I'd had my way, I wouldn't have had him here either, we were probably even.

Still, in his own way, he'd managed to correct my assumption about the coma thing. In the world of Alfred ettiquete, that meant it was time for at least a little groveling. I shook my head and did my best to look contrite. "Sorry, Alfred. I didn't mean it like that."

He sighed once more, a world-weary sound that almost hurt to hear. Almost. "Somehow, I think you did, young man. I leave it up to you to decide if you wish to come and see him one last time, or not."

With that, he turned and started for the door.

In turn, I could only sit there and watch him go, and wait for my brain to fully process everything that had happened. It was a lot to absorb.

"Alfred?!" I called out when he was halfway to the door, unable to hold back any longer the question that had been gnawing at my insides the entire time he'd been here -- well, one of the questions, anyway. "Who knows?" Who _knew?_ What did he have to do to find me? More to the point, was he going to tell the others where I was?

Of course, by this point, I doubted I'd receive a straight answer, but I still had to ask.

He paused and half-turned to face me, shadows once again moving through his eyes even as he smiled sadly. "Never fear, young man. Your secrets are safe. I'm the only one who currently knows where you live, and that is the way it shall stay. Of course, I cannot – and will not – do anything if the others' find out on their own, but they shan't hear it from me."

I nodded slowly. "That's...all I could ask for. Thanks, Alfred."

The old man nodded and continued out. He only paused once more, just before he shut the door behind him. He turned to look at me, perhaps to get one last memory or to give me another significant look. Hard to say. He was silent for a long moment. When he did finally speak, all he did was to say softly, "I'm sure you shall do the right thing, Richard."

With that, he crisply turned and finally left, the front door quietly easing shut behind him.


	3. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The right thing has never been so hard to do.

Despite Alfred's confidence in me, I didn't know what to do, whether to stay or to go. It was the proverbial sixty-four thousand dollar question, and true to form, I didn't have anything in my apartment that was worth anywhere that much. The garage was another matter entirely, but then I didn't plan to be selling my motorcycle any time soon.

That all of this lack of material possessions was a deliberate choice on my part still didn't help me any.

Because I had to make a decision, one way or the other, and _soon_. I could feel it. Call it a hunch, or gut instinct. I just...had this feeling that I had to choose _now_ , before the choice would be taken away from me, possibly for forever. And if there's one thing I've never appreciated, it was not being in control. It went against my grain in every way imaginable.

I don't like people making decisions for me. Never have. If I had to make a decision, I always want to do make the final choice my way, under my own steam, so to speak. Especially if it was a _forced_ choice, like this one was.

Trouble was, I needed some answers first, before I could decide if I was staying or going. There were a few questions that had come up during my conversation with Alfred that I needed answers to, and fast. Like, first and foremost, how the hell had he found me?

I wasn't the only one involved in this. My tracks had been collectively covered by some of the best in the business of hiding people. How the _hell_ do you think I'd stayed hidden so long from people like Oracle, Alfred, and Batman? The thing was, it wasn't just me involved in this. And if I'd been found... No. There could be no doubts at of the game. I _had_ to know how they'd found me.

Which meant that I had to make the call that I'd been putting off for far too long already.

Levering myself up off the couch, I limped my way over to the kitchen wall, where the phone was mounted. The entire way over, I cursed the old battle injury I'd sustained in my knee all those years ago, as well as my lack of foresight in placing the phone so far away from the living area. And it would also be just my luck that the temperamental injury would choose _now_ to play up, when the cane it sometimes forced me to use was in the bedroom on the other side of the apartment.

Easing myself down onto the bar-stool near the phone was more of relief than it was usually. It also told me exactly how much I'd be hating that walk to my bedroom for my cane when the call was over – and served to remind me all over again of why I'd tried to leave Gotham behind me.

Except that, obviously, I hadn't been quite as successful as I'd thought.

Dammit. I'd _knew_ that it was too much to hope that I'd be finally able to settle down and start a new life. And yet I'd done it anyway. I should've listened to my own instincts, like I had every _other_ time they'd saved my life. _You idiot, Grayson. Why didn't you just listen, for once?_

Being an idiot _then_ , however, didn't mean I should be one now. Especially now that I had the chance to prove that I'd _learned_ something from my mistakes.

Which probably explained my sudden burst of trepidation in making this call. I had to wonder, now that Alfred had found me, if my phone-lines were tapped. Granted, it would be an extreme measure...or maybe not. I wouldn't put anything past Alfred and the rest.

I glared heavily at the phone on the wall, as if it was responsible for all my troubles – or at least part of them. And a part of me quietly admitted the possibility that if I glared at it hard enough, maybe it would give me the answers I needed.

It didn't. Nothing happened.

Because to get my answers, I had to pick up the stupid thing and actually dial someone, didn't I? I sighed a little and resignedly reached for the phone. Nothing was going to be accomplished by my sitting here and glaring at the rotten thing, except wasting time that could be spent _doing_ something.

I dialed the number that I had never really forgotten, and waited. And tried to ignore the foreboding – not to mention persistent – feeling in the back of my mind that insisted I was taking my life in my hands by doing this. Because I probably was, knowing my luck.

It rang for ages before it was finally picked up. "....This'd better be a sweet, beautiful lady, or I'm hanging up." Even thick with sleep, the at-once-familiar voice oozed charm.

I closed my eyes for a moment in relief. He hadn't changed.

He hadn't changed.

Thank goodness for that. After the last half-hour or so, I wasn't sure of anything anymore. "Wrong gender, Bowbreath. Put your scrambler on," I ordered, not letting any trace of my unease show in my voice. About time all that Bat-training came in use for _something_.

There was an immediate scuffling then silence on the phone as Roy Harper put the handset down then went to do as I'd ordered, without wasting time with useless questions that could wait till after the scrambler was in place. I'd trained him well. By necessity, if nothing else. This was what our lives had come down to: a cloak-and-dagger routine that was necessary if we wanted to keep in contact.

I put the ring on the bench in front of me while I waited. Anything to get it as far away from me as I possibly could. I needed the space, the time, to think, to plan. I needed...some way to make sense of everything. Hence the phone-call.

He was back on in about fifteen seconds. There was a small click, and the line was instantly filled with the silence that comes from a secure transmission. "There. Done."

"You alone?" I had to ask. I wasn't sure where he'd been when I'd rang, or if he'd had company over. Especially with how old Lian now was.

Roy had the grace not to be too offended. He knew the procedures just as well as I did. "Of course I am. Now, what's up, Robbie?"

Dammit. "I've told you before, don't call me that!" I snapped down the line. The good cheer, and _that_ name, was enough to send my already well-rattled nerves over the edge. Too many reminders, of too many bad memories, on a day crammed full of them.

"Hey, it's okay, Ro—hotshot. I'm sorry man," the voice at the end of the line soothed. "No need to get all snarly on me." A beat. "What's happened?" Considering all the trouble we had to go to just to speak to one another, he knew, just as I did, that we didn't call each other now just to shoot the breeze, as the saying went. Yet another thing the Bat had taken from me, all those years ago...not that I'd realized that, at the time.

I was silent for a long while, unable to reply, my voice stuck in my throat as I stared at the ring on the table. The stupid little ring that had upset my entire world. How on earth was I supposed to explain _this?_

I heard rustling on the other end. He was probably sitting up in bed, or something. "Hmm, okay. Can you talk?"

I blew out a hard breath. "Yeah. I can talk." Probably not very coherently, but I could talk. I closed my eyes and forced my thoughts into order, then pushed out the first thing that came into focus. "Alfred found me."

Silence. For the first time in my life, I'd found one thing capable of shutting the Harper up. It lasted twenty seconds. I counted every one, and in every single second I lived a lifetime. At least it gave me enough time to get more of a handle on myself.

"Shit," Roy finally swore softly.

"Yeah. My thoughts exactly." Well, I was pretty sure my own were more colorful, and in more languages, but that was the basic gist. "I want to know _how_ , Roy." The security around my existence had been cracked somewhere, somehow.

"I'll check the files and everything as soon as I hang up."

I closed my eyes and deliberated a moment before I told him. "Check all trails. I mean it, Roy. Even the red-flagged ones." And which would be tantamount to putting a neon sign over my head pointing straight to where I was – or had been. Some trails had been red-flagged for a reason. They led straight to me, and were under the strictest security protocols we could come up with because of it.

And Roy knew it just as well I did. Probably better. He'd been the one to come up with the idea, after all. "But—"

"Do it," I ordered firmly. "We have to know. We can't let the system be this vulnerable, remember?" That was the problem with being the test case. Sometimes you got burnt to a crisp. But I'd be damned if I'd let all we'd worked for come crumbling down because of a little leak that I could have prevented. I was going to find out how they found me. By fair means or foul.

Roy sighed. He knew exactly what I was saying, too. If I came out, now that I was found, we had a chance of saving the others. "Alright," he conceded.

"Besides, if you do it right, they'll never know. And I _can_ disappear again, if I have to." Even though I'd really rather not. I forced my voice to a lighter tone. "But that's rather a moot point at this stage, isn't it?" After all, now that they knew where I was this once, it would be that much harder to pull it off a second time with the same success. Promises of Alfred aside, I had little faith that he would keep silent very long. Especially if a certain red-headed female hacker caught wind that he knew.

There was silence down the line for a long moment. That was Roy being diplomatic by choosing not to reply. He'd made very clear over the years what he thought of the life I'd chosen to live. I was just grateful he was kind enough to spare me from hearing that again, on tonight of all nights.

"So," he said finally, "why'd he come? I take it that it wasn't to smell the flowers."

"G-d, no," I choked out. One thing that had never changed about me was my brown thumb when it came to plants, and Roy knew it. "What have you heard from Gotham lately?"

"Same as always. We always heard more when you were around, you know that."

I snorted. Typical Bats. Never could ask for help when they needed it. "What I'm about to say, you never heard from me, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I don't know you exist, remember?" By this time, Roy was vacillating between peeved, exasperated, tired, and curious...but mainly curious. Peeved, because he knew the score on this point just as well as I did. Exasperated, because he didn't need the reminders. Tired, because he hated the distance between us and we'd been living this way for far too long than was healthy. And curious, because one thing he was never able to stand was a mystery.

"The Bat's down." I breathed a deep breath, and wondered why my voice was that little bit unsteady when I hated the man so much. "They don't know if he'll make it."

There was a distinctive _whoosh_ in the line, like Roy had just sat down in a heap. "Well, hot damn," he whispered, shocked to his core.

"Yeah," I breathed, closing my eyes to stave off a headache.

Silence.

Then: "What are ya gonna do?"

I leaned my forehead against the nearby window, basking in the cool against my hot forehead. "I don't know," I replied quietly. "I left that life behind years ago...but..."

"But he's still your old man," Roy finished knowingly. "Like it or not."

I brought up my free hand to rub at my aching eyes. "Yeah."

"It was like that with me and Ollie."

"I know." I opened my eyes to stare out through the window, out over the city, but I'd be the first to admit that I didn't see a thing.

"And I'm tellin' ya, man, you're gonna regret it if you don't go. It'll hang over your head the rest of your life if you don't. I'm talkin' from experience here."

I blew out another hard breath, closing my eyes again as his words washed over me. "I know."

"And try not to punch his lights out the first time you see him, okay?"

I let out a choked laugh, because it was either that or...I didn't want to know. "Since when did you become the voice of reason?"

"Since I raised a kid who was a hell of a lot smarter than me." The wry amusement I'd grown up with was definitely back. "Do you want me to get her on the line and let her talk sense into you instead?"

Despite myself, I smiled. "Nah. Let her sleep. You do a good enough job." Besides, Lian didn't need to hear me when I was this messed up. "Pass on my regards, and all that, won't you?"

"Of course. And next time, not only will you ring at a more decent hour, you'll talk to her yourself," he said matter-of-factly, as if there was never any doubt.

"Yeah." Maybe. Presuming I survived Gotham, which wasn't so certain. That was why I made sure I sounded normal once more when I next spoke. "See you 'round, Roy. And...thanks."

"No prob, man. That's what friends are for."

There were no painful goodbyes or searching for words. Just the quiet click of a quick hang-up. That was Roy all over.

Now I needed to go wash this awful taste out of my mouth from lying to a good friend. And pack, then arrange for leave from work...and everything else. After I got myself out of this chair, and found that cane of mine. Because it looked increasingly like I was taking a leave of absence from this new life of mine.

Whether I wanted to or not.


	4. Burnt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's doing the right thing. Now if only he could convince himself of that...

It turned out to be easier than I could ever have thought to leave my new life behind.

The Dean at the small university campus where I taught a few classes each week was more than happy for me to take leave. It seemed that my habit of working through all those semester breaks and holidays had built up a reserve of leave that was formidable even to me, and I was now under strict orders to reduce it. Even if it was on the spur of the moment and at the lame excuse of a "family emergency", when I'd never before admitted to a family and had, in fact, given the topic as wide a berth as possible.

Forget days. I had _weeks_ \- that could almost be defined as _months_ \- to take care of this mess with Bruce. And that was probably just as well, too. I had a feeling I'd be needing every single day of that leave to sort this mess out.

My main regret was my students. I'd be leaving them the week before the first main assignment was due, which was when they traditionally needed the most guidance. _Damn you to hell, Bruce._

If you weren't already there, that is.

_Alright, nothing you can do about that now. Focus._

Right. What was I supposed to be doing?

Packing. That's right. Packing up one life for another. Another reason in the long list of why I disliked the man.

Still, it didn't take me long. There was something sad in that. But then, I usually had a bag of some sort kept on hand for emergencies. It was a fall-back to the old days. I used to always keep a semi-packed bag handy back when I was kid - never knew when Bruce or Batman would want to take me on one of his round-the-world jaunts. Guess some old habits really _did_ die hard after all.

I wasn't too worried about leaving my apartment behind. Even though I lived frugally, I had enough to maintain a state-of-the-art security system. Plus I had a secure garage, so the motorcycle should be safe. Everything was insured, and I wasn't leaving anything behind that I couldn't afford to lose.

Except the bike. Damn, but I was going to miss that bike. I couldn't exactly take it with me. Not only was it not under the name I was soon going to be using, but it was also too distinctive. As in only one-of-its-kind type of distinctive.

Which was why I ended taking a cab to the airport and paying in cash. I'd also managed to pull a few strings and get on a flight within short order. It helped, having friends in high places, even if they technically didn't know me anymore - well, not in the 'new' guise, the one I'd adopted when I'd came here, but which I was now leaving behind for my 'old' one. Which was soon going to my 'new' one and—

Damn, this was going to be complicated. Who was I again?

It wasn't cliché to say that I wasn't sure. It was true. I was literally switching between identities, and the mental gears hadn't quite meshed yet. I wasn't sure they ever would. I'd been more than happy to leave Richard Grayson behind me, by the time it was all over, and now here I was walking back into all that? G-d help me, I really must be crazy. Or foolish.

Or maybe it was that death-wish thing again.

At least the ID-switch didn't take too long, relatively speaking. Any other time and I'd be proud of how well-oiled and smoothly flowing this system we had in place was. I'd just never thought I'd had to be using it. Again. At least this time was better than the first time we'd tried it. Definitely a much nicer experience than almost being assassinated. This time around it was just a long series of different flights, cars, trains, and aliases that were almost a blur until the real me was lost in the haze. Which was, of course, quite deliberate - it made it easier to accept the new identity, in theory, when it came time to finally use it.

On the other hand, the final flight was long and boring. The inflight food was tasteless. The rental car at the end - a 1991 white Ford Laser according to the papers - was actually a rusted-out bomb looking for a breakdown. The motel was this side of cheap, but it was what I could afford. I didn't expect to be spending much time there anyway.

In other words, it was _exactly_ what I was expecting from Gotham. What on earth was I doing here?

Bruce. Right.

Bruce.

_Damn. I really must be crazy._

It was also quite fittingly raining when I managed to get the decrepit car into a visitors' car park at Gotham Mercy General Hospital. I stared miserably at the hospital through the car window for a long moment. _I just know I'm gonna regret this. _But then, I was pretty sure I was also gonna get soaked by the monsoon-like rain, not to mention get caught up in the pack of reporters and photographers hanging around the entrance, but those kind of things had never really stopped me before.__

Before.

Yeah.

This was going to be harder than I'd thought.

Sighing quietly to myself, I turned up the collar of my jacket and got myself out of the car. Neither the weather or my feelings were going to change no matter how long I stared at the hospital and the clouds and the pack of media, so I might as well just deal with it. Locking the car behind me, I made my way as quickly as I could to the entrance.

And I was right. I _was_ soaked. My hair was plastered to my head and my jacket had certainly seen better days. I kept it on anyway. The rest of me wasn't much better. I simply mussed up my hair a little in an effort to dry it and kept on walking. I'd been told often enough over the years that the pitiful look worked wonders for me - and had seen the proof of it just as often - that I tended to use it to my advantage.

I did, after all, manage to dodge around the pack of paparazzi and hangers-on at the entrance, kept at bay from actually entering the hospital by ever vigilant security guards. Apparently, my photo hadn't been passed around or been put on the 'be on the lookout' list, or however those people worked.

Thank goodness for small favors.

Still, it didn't take me long to track down Bruce's room. A flash of the ol' Grayson charm and a few minutes work, and I had the room number, as well as a few phone numbers that I never intended to ring while I was in town. Women.

But that worried me on some levels. Make that a _lot_ of levels. They'd better not have been trying to keep his location quiet. For all they knew, I could have been a member of the paparazzi pack outside. Or, worse yet, thanks to Alfred, they could have been _expecting_ me. That was pathetically easy. Way too easy.

Finding the right floor was just as simple. It was even easier getting past WE's security guarding the floor - I just slipped past the lone guard as he was looking the other way _and_ chatting up a nurse. Really sloppy on his part.

But actually walking to the door...was something else entirely.

Walking down that hospital corridor had to be one of the hardest things I'd ever done in my life. Knowing, but not knowing, what would be at the other end of it.

I might be many things, but I wasn't a fool.

For the ring to be in my possession, Alfred must have seen enough to convince him it was worthwhile for him to come all the way across the world and give me the ring. Which meant that Bruce...must really be in a bad way. Maybe...maybe even close to death. I didn't know yet how I felt about that. While I wanted to be the one who put him there, I was disgusted that a part of me quivered still at the thought that he might be...vulnerable. Mortal. Like me.

And if Bruce was that bad...then Alfred wouldn't be the only one here. Everyone else would be here too. _Everyone._ Most of them I had no desire to ever see again, and I was pretty sure that the feeling was going to be mutual. My reception was not going to be pretty.

My bridges were burnt. And it'd be better for all concerned that they stayed that way.

Which they would remain, whether I kept going down this corridor...or turned around and left before I saw anyone I'd once known.

And yet I was here now, wasn't I? It _was_ kinda too late to go back now. All the nurses had seen me, after all. They knew I was here. They would talk, perhaps even mention my name, probably without even knowing it. Word would get around that I had been here, whether I wanted it to or not, now I had actually stepped on the floor. I felt my heartbeat increase within my chest. It really _was_ too late.

Too late for everything.

Especially now that Alfred suspected that I _would_ come to visit, one last time. After all, he'd gotten me here, hadn't he? And he knew where I lived now - or was that 'had lived', now that I'd ditched that identity for the moment? In any case, I'd never hear the end of it, if I walked away now. Unless I disappeared all over again. Which was a lot harder and a lot less glamorous, than it looked in the movies, believe me.

Ah, finally.

I was there. I paused in the shadows at the edge of the doorway, taking advantage of the moment to observe. I knew the occupants hadn't heard me. Not even all the years away and all the things I'd lost had dulled my ability to move quietly. Not even Batman had been needed to train _that_ particular ability into me. Once a circus brat, always a circus brat.

I ignored the woman and the boy sitting beside the bed, murmuring softly to its occupant; I couldn't clearly see their features from this angle, and had no real desire to anyway. There was no point in tempting the inevitable, after all. My eyes had sight only for the bed, and its occupant. I stifled a gasp. _Bruce..._

Would it be too much of a cliché to say that I couldn't see him underneath all the equipment? Let alone all the bruises?

It was true. I couldn't.

It didn't look like him. It didn't look the man that had raised me from the age of nine. It didn't look like the man who'd flown beside me on Gotham's rooftops. And it definitely didn't look anything like the man who'd tossed me out and thrown me away.

It didn't look like a man, period.

I almost ran, then. I almost ran straight back home and damned the consequences to hell for being too much of a coward to face it, to face the truth.

Almost.

And I would have. I came very close. What stopped me was when I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket, prior to turning away, and encountered in one...metal. Cold metal. Circular, cold metal.

A ring. _The_ ring.

The ring Bruce had given me... Why?

Well, only one way to find out. And the first step to finding that out was through the doorway. No matter how much it was going to hurt. Or how much the bridges had been burnt. But underneath all the ashes, there was still something left. There had to be. The ring I had clenched in my fist in the jacket pocket told me that. Why else would Alfred have come all that way to give it to me, if there wasn't something there?

Besides, Bruce owed me a few answers.

Not to mention one huge apology. And that was just for starters.

 _Deep breaths, Grayson._ I stepped through the doorway, deliberately scuffing my boots on the floor so that they'd hear me.

The woman whirled on her seat, her fine features instantly twisting into a mask of hate. _If looks could kill..._

"You!" she spat venomously, green eyes flashing.

 _Yep. Bridge definitely burnt._ "Hello to you too, Barbara," I returned coolly.


	5. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ashes of burnt bridges are so much fun to deal with...

I stared at Barbara from behind my sunglasses. That hair of hers was as vibrant a coppery-red as ever, and even her face was relatively unlined. And her eyes...well, her eyes hadn't changed a bit. Still the same old storms of emotion I remembered so vividly.

But if time had been kind to her...well, I wasn't sure the same could be said for me.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she hissed, eyes narrowed, spinning around more fully to face me. Only then did I realize that she was still in the wheelchair. It was also at that point when I realized that, yeah, seeing her face-to-face, the decades-old attraction I'd felt for her hadn't died for all the years of being away. Parts of it still lingered, like ash under a field strewn with debris from the fallout of the explosion of my departure all those years ago. I could find it if I needed to...but it would undoubtedly clog my pores and get in the way if I did.

Now _this_ was going to be interesting conversation.

And oh, but there were a thousand smart retorts to that question. And having taught plenty of smart-mouthed students through the years, I was pretty sure that I'd heard almost every one too. But in the end, I went for the short, sweet, and simple truth. I nodded towards the bed. "What do you think, Barbara? I came for him." And for me too, but I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of knowing that.

Barbara snorted, her green eyes smoldering by now, her grip on the wheels white-knuckled. "Right. Likely story. If that was true, you'd have been here days ago."

I bit my tongue, both to hold back my own temper and the words that wanted to come out. _He's been like this for days...?_ I didn't know whether to be amused, enraged, or insulted....or all three. "I only found out yesterday," I replied tersely. "Mutual friends and all that."

On the other hand, _did_ Alfred count as a mutual friend? To Richard 'Dick' Grayson he had, yeah, sure. But I wasn't completely sure he was a friend to me now. Guess I was still too firmly grounded in the 'new' identity I'd created for myself to get away from this mess, from this place. ...Make that my old 'new' identity. Or was it my new 'new' identity?

Yeah. I could feel the headache beckoning from here.

"You don't have any friends," Barbara scoffed, nose in the air, a bit like the haughty brat she used to be...and probably still was, under her polished veneer.

I gave her a feral smile, because it wasn't that far from the snarl that was waiting to break free. Insulting me was one thing; insulting my friends was another. "And I suppose you think you do?"

"Stop it!"

That came from the youth that had been sitting besides Barbara when I'd came in. I flicked my gaze over him in a quick assessment. Mid-to-late-teens, black hair, blue eyes, but different facial structure to Bruce. Probably not his son, but you could never tell in this day and age. Still, he carried himself with a sense of warrior grace and body-awareness that was sickeningly familiar. I'd give ya three guesses what he did with his nights, only the first three didn't count. It was all too obvious. _Great Bruce. Just great. Where on earth did you pick this one up?_

I narrowed my eyes at the kid behind my shades and wondered where the hell he got off on telling me what to do. "And you are?" I asked coolly.

The kid ignored me. His jaw was clenched so tight anyone would've broken their hands if they tried to punch him there now. "Just. Stop. It. Both of you. This ain't the time or place for arguing."

I winced a little inside, but didn't show it in my expression. Yeah, the kid did kinda have a point. I could see that. Here we were, fighting like cats and dogs, while standing over Bruce's comatose body. I really should've known better. _Barbara_ should've known better, but then she always did have a hair-trigger temper.

I flicked my gaze back to Barbara and tilted my head slightly. Somebody had to apologize for us to get past this initial fight - and knowing Barbara, she wouldn't be the first to back down. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself down enough so that my tone at least sounded civil. "With all due respect, Barb, I didn't come here to fight." Well, not with her. Bruce was another story entirely, but I wanted him on his feet first. Another deep breath. "I came here for him," I repeated slowly. Maybe if I repeated it often enough and slowly enough, it'd sink in through that thick skull of hers.

Those emerald eyes of hers were, by now, positively glacial, but even she couldn't deny the olive branch I'd offered. Either that, or the kid had more sway over her than I did. With our history combined with the years I'd been away, it was even money either way. "Fine," she finally said flatly. "I'll call your truce." Her even tone shifted to match her eyes: hard and icy. "But you step the slightest bit out of line and all bets are off, you get me?"

I nodded faintly, not perturbed in the least about the words or about the threat she'd made. I had expected no less, and this _was_ her turf, not mine. I'd been away too long for anything less.

Rather pointedly, Barbara returned her attention to the bed and its silent occupant. That it meant she turned her back on me was just an added bonus. The kid followed her example, but I did notice him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, when he thought she wasn't looking.

I took advantage of their retreat to move a few steps more into the room and take more of a look around. _Nice. Who's the internal decorator?_ It was surprisingly... cheerful, if that was the word, for a hospital room. Sunny yellow walls; white curtains; wooden venetian blinds; chairs that actually looked like that they might be padded and comfortable. _Hmph. Figures. Guess all those billionaire dollars of Bruce's must've finally come in handy for something._

Sighing softly to myself, I moved over to the wall opposite the bed and leaned up against it. Barbara had her chair, the kid had his chair, and the only other chair in the room was on the other side of the bed. No way was I getting that up close and personal right now. Not only would Barbara likely try and kill me for taking that kind of liberty, but I also had no real desire to be that close anyway.

And besides, while leaning against the wall might be eventually be murder on my bad leg, it also meant I could see the entire room _and_ out into the hallway at the same time. Nothing like a little situational awareness to soothe that little itch between my shoulder blades.

Which was why I was aware of the approach of a doctor long before Barbara was. I didn't bother to warn her. If her skills had slipped that far that she wasn't aware of him, it wasn't my problem. That was between her and her mask. If she still had one.

I would, however, give the doc points for his approach. Like me, he'd made it to the door before Barbara noticed him and looked up. He'd definitely had some military training of some sort before he became a doctor. In my experience, unless there's some gypsy in them, people generally had to be _taught_ to achieve that level of silence when they walk.

The first thing he did on walking into the room was look right at me, the unexpected stranger in the room. In turn, I deliberately raised an eyebrow to acknowledge that look.

And of course, we were interrupted. "Doctor Jak," Barbara greeted neutrally, giving a small nod of her head. Okay, that was one more point in the gypsy column. That didn't exactly sound like a _gadje_ name - but then neither did Dick Grayson, or the name I'd abandoned to come here.

I snorted mentally. While it was nice to know that the ice-queen treatment didn't extend to just me, you'd have thought she'd be nicer to the doctor in charge of Bruce's treatment. On the other hand, I was pretty sure the old girl couldn't - wouldn't - unbend that far. For anyone. Except maybe Bruce.

Apparently, the doctor was either used to it, or he was perpetually happy. I hoped for the former. I hated perpetually happy people. "Miss Gordon," he returned with a pleasant smile, "may I have a word?"

Barbara nodded and wheeled herself over. "Outside," she ordered shortly, beckoning the boy to follow and rather pointedly ignoring me. The kid obeyed silently, no doubt knowing better than to disobey when she was in one of _those_ moods.

Well, damn, just because we had that truce thing going didn't mean I was gonna make this that easy for her.

I held up my hands and shifted easily into an unassuming posture. "Hey, don't worry about me, I'll just stay over here and keep out of your way," I said, keeping my face and my voice as bland as possible. I knew the benefits of keeping out of Barbara's warpath better than most. Damn woman had a fiery temper to match her hair, not to mention a hair-trigger to match - and I couldn't imagine it'd gotten any better in the years I'd been away. But there were ways to avoid it while still getting your point across - a lesson I wished I'd remembered when— _Don't go there, Grayson. Just don't._

I deliberately flashed a disarming smile to acknowledge the doctor's sharp look in my direction. If he couldn't have the decency to ask me outright why I was here, then I didn't see the need to obviously enlighten him.

The doctor, at least, was quick enough to give me a tight smile in return. I had enough time to sense reined-in curiosity in that smile, as if he would have asked more about my presence in the room if we'd been alone, before his attention shifted. To Barbara. Of course.

She was waiting, rather impatiently, at the door. Which was closed. And making a little bit of a show of being unable to open it.

So Dr. Jak held the door open so they could go outside before him. He lingered a little, giving me enough clues to hope that he'd want to catch a quick word with me while the other two went outside. But Barbara preempted him by propping the door open with her chair and telling him ever-so-sweetly that she had the door for him. And how could he refuse an offer like that, in that kind of voice?

With yet another pointed look my way, Barbara pulled the door almost shut behind her before wheeling her way towards the doctor, to a point just outside the room in the hallway. Barely stifling the urge to point my tongue out at the back of her chair, I obligingly turned my back, but kept my ears peeled anyway.

Just because I'd been away all these years hadn't dulled my curiosity any. Or my sense of hearing. Even if they were two of the things that—

Yeah. _Concentrate on the moment, Grayson._

Even from here, the pleasantness in the doctor's tone grated. How on earth did they put up with it? "I received word from the lawyers looking into the living will, like you requested—"

Unbidden, my gaze flicked to the bed and its silent, unmoving occupant. I'd had no idea it was this bad. _Maybe...maybe Alfred was right to find me after all..._

"—and found a rather interesting stipulation," the doctor continued. "It mentions some sort of old signet ring he wore. Apparently it has been in his family for generations. Do you know anything about it?"

Signet ring? But Bruce didn't _have_ a signet ring. Especially not one that old and—

I swore silently as my eyes flashed to the pocket of my jacket. _Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling about that stupid ring?_

It fit the bill. It was old. Bruce had always worn it. It had been given him by his father, then his grandfather, and so on... And now I had it.

I cursed again.

My hands were shaking slightly as I retrieved the ring from the pocket and took it out into the light. I turned it over quickly, doing my best to ignore the way my hands were trembling, looking for the very thing that I almost _knew_ would be there but dreaded to find...

Ah.

Of course.

_How very much like you, Bruce._

There were engravings on the ring. Small engravings, so small I'd never noticed them before, that spelled out a rather ornate W enclosed in a rectangle. Of the type I might see on an old-fashioned seal, but worn down now over time so that they were barely noticeable. How many times had I seen the ring and not noticed _that_?

I put the ring back in my pocket, having no desire to look at it any longer. Biting my lip, I tuned back in to the conversation outside the room.

"—sorry, but the directions are clear," the doctor was saying, his voice sympathetic, but his words blunter than anything I'd ever heard. "The person wearing the signet ring bears full responsibility for his life. If that is another party, all well and good. But if that is the man himself and he is on life support for the foreseeable future, he wants the machines turned off."

I had a moment of overwhelming relief that I'd never actually _put_ the damn ring _on_ my finger.

Then came the sickening realization that just carrying it _with_ me was probably enough to get me into trouble. And if that was the case, then I was now directly responsible for this man's life...a man that I'd spent the best part of my life hating.

My gaze returned unerringly to the bed, and the horror mounted as I continued to listen.

From what Barbara and the kid were saying, I could _tell_ they had no idea where the ring was. They hid it well, but their shock and worry were as plain as day to my ears. That meant that only Alfred and Bruce knew I even had the ring with me. And of the two, one of them was comatose, while the other was distinctly _not_ present.

Great.

How _on earth_ was I gonna explain  this?


	6. Perception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth. Knowledge. Freedom. In this Gotham, at least one of them is highly over-rated.

Thankfully, I'd managed to calm myself by the time Barbara and the kid came back into the room. I turned towards them and looked up as they entered, deliberately smoothing my face into a neutral mask. They would see no signs of the realizations of the last few minutes from me.   
  
"Well, what did the doctor have to say?" I asked her calmly, just to see what she would say, and to see how far she would carry this truce we seemed to have called.  
  
Not very far, apparently. Her lips thinned. "Nothing much. He just wanted to discuss our options."  
  
I nodded and said nothing more, refusing to push for information from her that I would already know. Apparently, she'd forgotten in the intervening years about my far better than average hearing -- and I, for one, wasn't about to remind her. Not when she was giving off very clear 'Do Not Talk To Me' vibes. The two resumed their places beside the bed as I leaned back against the wall, and we all let the room fall into an uneasy silence.  
  
I spent a few minutes thinking, based on the conversation I'd overhead, and the more I thought, the less I liked what I was thinking.  
  
First and foremost was that this ring was going to get me into a lot of trouble. That was pretty much a given. Unless I could give it back. Problem with that: Bruce needed to breathing and awake to participate. Or I could just give it to Alfred. If I could find him.  
  
Then there was the fact that I was pretty sure that only Alfred and Bruce knew that I had the ring. Alfred had promised me he wouldn't tell anyone about where I was -- had been -- living, and he'd basically made a 'deathbed promise' kind of thing to Bruce to get it to me. And from Barbara's and the kid's reactions to the doctor's announcements about the ring's status in Bruce's living will, I knew that they had no idea I had it. They hid it well, but they were worried about that stipulation in Bruce's living will. As far as they knew, the stupid ring was missing.  
  
How I wished it was.  
  
It made me wonder, though, if Alfred knew what that ring meant in Bruce's mind when he'd promised to give it to me. If he knew what it'd mean for me, what responsibility it would lay on my shoulders when he'd oh so subtly pressured me to come back. If this was their way of drawing me _back_ , by fair means or foul.  
  
Knowing Alfred, there was a good chance he did.  
  
If that was the case, they were a few decades too late and I wanted no part of it. They'd made clear their feelings about me. Heck, they still felt it, if Barbara was any judge. It was bad enough once more being in the one city that I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't be caught _dead_ in again. I'd vowed that not even wild horses would be able to drag me back _here_. And yet, here I was, again, in a place where around every corner lurked terrible demons, just waiting to spring out at me.  
  
Ironic, that. Bruce was more powerful than those wild horses after all. Bruce and Alfred, that is. The true unstoppable team. The true dynamic duo.  
  
All that, being _here_ again, was bad enough. My _own_ baggage was bad enough. But having to deal with everyone else's as well, with Alfred's tongue-lashings and subtle manipulations, Barbara's ice-queen routine, and now Bruce's damnable living will on top of all that?  
  
No. No way in _hell_.  
  
And the only way to make my feelings known at this point was through one person. The one who had put it all in motion.  
  
"Where's Alfred?" I asked suddenly, coming to a sudden decision. The only decision I _could_ make.  
  
"Why?" prompted Barbara, turning to face me, with an expression that might as well have been carved from stone.  
  
"Why the sudden interest?" I tossed back even as I pushed myself away from the wall. "I just need to talk to him."  
  
"Last week he said he had an errand to run and disappeared. Haven't really seen him since," the kid volunteered. Somehow, I wasn't surprised that he'd been the one to tell me -- or that he'd been the one to string the longest sentences together when talking to me. For all that he was obviously under Barbara's thumb and thus under orders to ignore me, the kid also had curiosity in spades. And enough gumption to try to look at me every time he thought Barb wasn't looking -- which was fairly often, going by how often he was trying it.  
  
I nodded in acknowledgment of the brat's statement, but kept my internal astonishment hidden. If what he said was true, that meant...that meant Bruce had been here over a week, probably closer to two. In a coma. It would have taken Alfred no longer than a week -- probably less -- to decide that he needed to follow through on his promise to Bruce and drop his little bombshell on me and give me his gift. And if I knew Alfred, he'd left on his "errand" when he decided to do just that. Him and his euphemisms.  
  
On the other hand, the time-frame would mean that it had taken Alfred almost a week to find me. Not only had he had the powerful Cray in the Cave at his disposal, but he also had Oracle's networks. _Or maybe not..._ That is, if he had used Oracle's networks, Barbara hadn't been aware of it -- because if she had, she _wouldn't_ be sitting there watching the bed. And the way I'd designed the system that had concealed my existence all these years, Barbara would have known about it if he'd tried that route from the Cave. More to the point, _I_ would have known if Barbara had sniffed around my history. _Huh. Imagine that..._ Maybe the system I'd put in place with the Titans wasn't that bad after all. Still, I really wanted to know what Roy would come back to me with. I'd specifically designed that system so that Oracle or those Crays couldn't break it.  
  
Mentally putting the thoughts aside for when I had more time to consider them, I turned to Barbara and raised one mocking eyebrow. Cheap trick, yeah, but considering that it was one I'd learned from Alfred, well, it usually worked.  
  
And it did this time. It got a response.  
  
"If he's around, he'll probably be in the cafeteria," Barbara told me bluntly, turning back to the bed. Her message was clear. As far as she was concerned, I had no place in their lives right now.  
  
Too bad I'd never been one for listening to orders I didn't much like. If I had...well, no use crying over spilt milk, and all that.  
  
Problem was, I still wasn't completely sure I _wanted_ to be back in their lives. Other problem: I had a sinking feeling that I already _was_ involved... whether I wanted it or not. I had a feeling that this ring of Bruce's was going to tie me quite firmly to Gotham, the last place on earth I'd ever wanted to be. Hence the speaking to Alfred part.  
  
I simply nodded my thanks for the information to her back and left the room. It was more of a relief to escape into the hallway than I'd expected. The atmosphere in that room... Oppressive didn't even come close to describe it. And it wasn't just because of the silent and unmoving patient in the bed, or the machines being used to keep him alive. I would obviously need all the self-control I'd ever learned if I planned to stay much longer. Just as obviously, I really needed to get the matter of this ring sorted out. Fast.  
  
So I made my way down to the hospital cafeteria. Surprise, surprise, there was no sign of Alfred either in the cafeteria, or on the way down there. Which meant he could be anywhere. _Brilliant. Just...brilliant._ Could this day get any better?  
  
Damn. I really should learn not to speak so quickly.  
  
A few minutes of the ol' Grayson charm and a few pointed questions gave me no less than _three_ different places the old man could be. _Three_. What on earth was he, schizophrenic? Cloned? How hard was it to pick from a crowd one man in highly expensive well-tailored suit that spoke with a so very proper British accent?  
  
Very hard, as it turned out.  
  
The first two places were complete busts. I should've known that they would be. The chapel and the visitor's lounge didn't quite strike me as places Alfred would be. Not at this time of the day, and not with the way the lounge was packed full of about fifteen noisy youths apparently intent on destroying everything within a ten-foot radius. The indoor garden on the fifth floor was where I struck gold, figuratively speaking.  
  
Well, that was where I found him, anyway. That is, I found the back of him.  
  
He was facing away from the door, staring out at some indefinable point in the distance, and rather studiously ignoring my presence even though we both knew he'd been aware of my presence long before I'd walked through the door. Probably even earlier than that, knowing him. Hell, I wouldn't put it past him to have known I was here from the moment I'd re-entered Gotham airspace.  
  
To be kind to us both, I spoke first. "You're a hard man to track down, Alfred."  
  
"If I had known you were looking for me, I'm sure I could have arranged to leave my appointment book with someone," he shot back without moving to face me.  
  
And _that_ was no doubt meant as a rather pointed barb at me about how hard it had been to track me down for all the years I'd been away. Too bad I ached too much from walking all over this stupid hospital to be in any mood to hear it. Trouble was, when I ached liked this, I found it harder to control my temper...and I knew I had to at least _appear_ as calm as possible to get anything out of Alfred.  
  
Still, the fact that he was refusing to face me made me wonder what I'd done to tick him off. The Alfred I remembered was a stickler for manners and etiquette, unless you managed to offend him so much he let them drop to get his point across. I couldn't see him changing that drastically in all these years.  
  
But if I'd done something to offend him this much, I certainly didn't know it. I'd come like he'd asked me to, hadn't I?  
  
Well, two could play this game. "And yet I found you anyway," I retorted. then forced my voice to a greater level of calm. "I just want to talk to you."  
  
His shoulders rose and fell in a slight -- very slight -- shrug. "Then talk," he ordered, his back still firmly turned to me, "though I shall make no guarantee of listening nor replying."  
  
No, of course not, that would be asking him to _do_ something. I narrowed my eyes at his back and decided to go straight for the shock factor. As many people could tell you, 'subtlety' was generally not a part of my vocabulary. "Why haven't you told anyone that you've given me Bruce's ring?"  
  
 _Bingo_. Strike one for me. His shoulders stiffened...but he did not turn. "It is not my place to tell them."  
  
I swallowed hard to hold back a growl. "Really? Seems to me it is, seeing as you're the one who did it."  
  
Even with his back to me, I could see how he held himself, back ramrod straight, chin up in the air, eyes dead ahead. A posture any drill instructor would be proud of. "Yet I was not the one who decided to give it to you, young man. Nor am I the one currently holding said item." His disapproval was plain to hear. I just couldn't quite tell if it was because I couldn't get what he thought was so obvious, or if it was because I was 'holding said item' in the first place. Or, knowing Alfred, if it was something else entirely that I was missing completely.  
  
And, speaking of which, was I the only one who thought his principles about speaking up were a little...skewed?  
  
As much as I hated myself for it, I found myself reacting to that disapproval...like an angry teenager with something to prove. Apparently, I hadn't grown up all that much after all. Or he had a way of making me regress. Even money either way, with Alfred. "If you disapproved so much, why'd you agree to pass the ring on?"  
  
Alfred slowly turned to face me, his back straight, and his face blank. "Whoever said I agreed?" he replied coolly. "I simply did as Master Bruce directed when the time came, nothing more."  
  
I stared right back, not in the least impressed. _Oh-kaay. What happened to you and where's the real Alfred?_ There was a marked difference between this man and the affectionate, though grieving, man who'd turned up on my doorstep a few days ago and half a world away. Something had obviously happened between then and now to change his mind about me.  
  
Darned if I knew what it was. And I couldn't exactly ask. That would go against the Alfred rules of etiquette.  
  
"What, precisely, did he say to you, Alfred?" I asked calmly. Calmly, because the alternative was to start shouting and throwing things, and I didn't trust myself not to hurt someone. And besides, this was still Alfred, however changed, and the only things available to throw were plants. I drew the line at plants.  
  
Alfred simply raised one elegant eyebrow at me and answered in those proper British tones of his, "Who is this 'he', Master Richard?" he queried frostily. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a tad more specific than that."  
  
"You know full well who and what I'm talking about, Alfred," I retorted, barely refraining from snarling. Was the old man always this dense when it came to _him_? In my current mood, it took all my control not to spit the name out. "Bruce. When he told you about the ring."  
  
"Ah. I see."  
  
Oh, I bet he did.  
  
The elderly butler drew himself up. "He said exactly what I told you, young man. He woke for a few moments before the surgery, as I believe I have already informed you," he told me stiffly, but his voice increasingly gained that peculiar distant quality as he continued that told me he was looking more at his memories than me. Good. Maybe now I'd get a straight answer. "He managed to say precisely four words to me. My name, and then the words, _'give Dick ring'_ before he passed out." The old man's pale blue eyes refocused on me once more, but at least now they weren't quite so...frosty. They were melancholic than anything. "He never woke up again."  
  
I blinked and sucked in a deep breath. _So it wasn't coerced after all..._ Well. Someone certainly believed in me. Enough to want me to have the ring, anyway. On the other hand, _did_ Bruce count? Being on death's door at the time? I opened my mouth to ask...something, I wasn't too sure to be honest, but Alfred cut me off.  
  
"Now, if you will excuse me," he told me firmly, his eyes regaining their ice-pit look, "I fear I have better things to do than talk to you any longer."  
  
I blinked again. The dismissal was as clear as a door slammed shut in my face. "Right," I said at last, a flash of perversity making me add, "and don't mind me. I'll let myself out, Alfred."  
  
"You do that, Richard." he replied, turning away once more.  
  
I snorted to myself but walked away as I said I would. I could count on both hands the number of times I'd been called 'Richard' without the 'Master' bit attached, and still have plenty of digits left over. The rest of the encounter aside, it was clear to me by that alone that, somehow, somewhere, in Alfred's world I'd done something to massively offend him in the time from when he'd given me the ring and practically ordered me back here. Me, I had no clue what it was, because this was the first time I'd seen him since. That man was a law unto himself.  
  
And seeing as I had absolutely no desire to navigate the minefield of the conversation it would take to figure out exactly what it was I was supposed to have done or not-done, there wasn't much I could do about it.  
  
When I got to the corridor outside the gardens, I leaned against the wall for a moment, both to give my aching leg a rest and to consider my next move. Alfred had been distinctly not helpful. Frosty, cryptic, probably a little manipulative, but ultimately not helpful. Obviously I needed to go to someone else. But who else would know...?  
  
 _Ah. Of course. Barbara._  
  
If I couldn't get answers out of Alfred, maybe it was time I trapped the dragon in its den and had a talk with Barbara. There was always more than one way to skin a cat. After all, it couldn't be any worse than last time. Could it?  
  
 _Wonderful. This is gonna be fun._  
  
 _Not._


	7. Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ice-war continues. Talking to her is like trying to get blood out of stone. But he has a feeling the stone would be happier about it. Heck, so would he, at this point...

I found Barbara right where they said she'd be. Not, surprisingly enough, with Bruce, but in the solarium. Sunning herself in the non-existent sunbeams while rain pounded the glass separating us from outside. Taking a short break from watching Bruce, the proverbial pot that's never going to boil, judging from the nurses' rumors. You can find out a lot, if you take the time to charm the nurses. Heck, I could take over the entire hospital in a few days that way, if I wanted to. If I wanted to.  
  
I moved silently to stand a few meters behind behind her. "I thought I'd find you here."  
  
I concealed the spike of pleasure I felt at seeing the startled jump and flinch at my unexpected presence behind her. She whirled to face me. " _Dick_! What are you—!"  
  
I shrugged. "Can we talk?"  
  
She nodded, cautiously. "This place is as private as any other. No one comes here but me at this time of day."  
  
Fair enough. Though I wondered privately if we'd be attracting all kinds of attention by the time this was over. "Fine. What happened to Bruce?" I asked without preamble.  
  
"You mean you don't know?"  
  
I shook my head. "Not really." Nothing that I believed, anyway. Mugging? Likely story. I believed that as much as I believed that I came to my parents via the Stork Express.  
  
Her jaw clenched, and her eyes flashed just a little. "They think it's a mugging."  
  
"But you don't believe them." It wasn't a question. Nor did I ask who 'they' were. I thought that was a rather admirable display of self-control on my part.  
  
"No." G-ds. She sounded like I was forcing it out of her by torture. If it was like this in just a normal conversation, imagine what'd be like when we got to talking about what drove me out of Gotham?  
  
Barely restraining myself from rolling my eyes, I instead raised an eyebrow at her from behind my sunglasses. "Why not?"  
  
She froze. "What do you mean?"  
  
 _Typical, answering question with a question. She's definitely been around Bruce too long._ This time I did roll my eyes, knowing she wouldn't see it behind the sunglasses. "It's a perfectly reasonable question, Barb. Why don't you think he was mugged? Besides the obvious facts."  
  
Barbara met my gaze squarely, or as much as she was able. The glasses I wore tended to have that effect on people. "Such as?" she asked coolly, wanting to know, no doubt, if I'd picked up on the same things she had.  
  
 _Oh, give me a break._ Ah well. If she asked for it, she was gonna get it. "The pattern of the bruising, for one. There's way too much for a simple mugging. Someone wanted to beat him up and punish him for something...and he wasn't fighting back, because there's no defensive wounds on his hands. Nor was he tied up by the obvious means, as there's no ligature marks. And we all know he can defend himself, so he definitely had his guard down. To me, that says good drugs of some kind, which the average street mugger doesn't have access to. Or fancy restraints, which again, the average street mugger doesn't have access to." I smiled a nasty smile. "Shall I keep going?"  
  
She nodded faintly, a strange expression on her face. "Please."  
  
I shrugged. Her choice, and thus her fault if she ended up not liking what I had to say. "Then there's what's missing, and what isn't there but should be. They took jewelery, but left his wallet. That is the most blatant clue that someone was trying to make it look like a mugging." I snorted. "They really should'a done their homework." That wallet alone was worth more than what most people took home in a week.  
  
Barbara stared at me. "How did you—"  
  
I tugged my glasses down long enough to give her a dark glare, then quickly pushed them back up. How dumb did she think I was? Just because I'd been 'away' from the game for all these years didn't mean my senses were any duller for it; years of living one's life looking over one's shoulder did _not_ tend to do that, in my experience. "The wallet's sitting on the bedside table, Barb. Which means it was personal. Whoever did it, they wanted him found. And _known_. Because whoever found him would've needed some way to ID him, since they obviously couldn't do it by looking at his face. The swelling and bruising would've been too bad for that at the time. So they had to leave his wallet with his ID in it." Even now, days after the fact – and didn't that still hurt in a way I was reluctant to confront – it was hard to see Bruce underneath all those bruises.  
  
She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. "So how do you know that these alleged muggers took his jewelery?"  
  
I smirked. "Cuts and bruises around his right wrist. Medical personnel tend to be a bit more careful about removing watches than that." Now this was the part where I had to play dumb...at least for now, until I got some decent answers. "And then there's the fact that the ring of his isn't on his finger."  
  
Because I was looking for it, I saw Barbara's upper body stiffen slightly in her chair. "Its an important ring. Ever thought we might not want to risk losing it to a set of light fingers?"  
  
That was ironic. The 'light fingers' they'd lost it to were closer to home than she thought. "Then why isn't it with his wallet?" I challenged right back.  
  
Her shoulders slumped. "Because we don't know where it is."  
  
Wow. That was...easier than I expected.  
  
She looked away. "Bruce had it with him that day, when he left. I wasn't here when he arrived. I..." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter where I was, but Alfred was here. All I know is that the ring was missing when Bruce came out of surgery. Alfred said it was gone when he arrived to talk to Bruce, just before Bruce went under."  
  
I almost smiled at another one of Alfred's euphemisms. _Yeah, it was 'gone' alright. Gone into his pockets._ Still, it was as good a time as any to reveal my hand. Wordlessly, I dug the ring out of my pocket and held it out to her in the palm of my hand. Outside of her reach, but I showed it to her.  
  
The flash of hunger in her eyes didn't surprise me. Nor did the minute jerk of her hand before she controlled it. Why do you think I was holding it out of her reach? I might not really want it, but I also had a feeling that I shouldn't let go of it. For whatever reason, Bruce had decided to give it to me. It was the least I could do to honor that.  
  
And I could see when the hunger in her eyes turned to suspicion, when the control turned to anger and thoughts of thievery. It didn't surprise me. It was probably what I would've thought too, were I in her position. "Where...? How did you...?"  
  
I laughed. Even to me, it sounded bitter. "Alfred."  
  
She stared. "Of course. _Alfred_." I barely refrained from raising my eyebrows in surprise. _Whoa, ease up girl._ There was something...monumentally  dark in that reply. Some history that went even beyond what had happened between me and the Family. Her gaze flicked back up to my glasses, then back to the ring. "I suppose he was your 'mutual friend', then," she said grimly, referring to how I'd said I'd found about Bruce.  
  
I shrugged. "So what if he was or wasn't?" With her voice like that, it was probably better to keep her guessing. "It doesn't matter, does it?" I added.  
  
She shook her head, still staring at the ring, a flash of that hunger from before passing through her eyes again. "I guess not. But why did _you_ get...?"  
  
I closed my fist over the ring and withdrew my hand. I palmed the ring back into its pocket and nodded towards the bed. "You'll have to ask Bruce. I don't know why he gave it to me." Except for what he'd told me through Alfred. But I wasn't sure, anymore, how much I believed of it...or what Alfred had told me of him. Bruce _had_ to have gone completely mental for him to want me to have this. "Believe me," I added bitterly, "I would've been more than happy for the ring to go to someone else."  
  
Her face hardened. "How can you _say_ that? Don't you _know_ what it—"  
  
I cut her off. "Why do you think, Barbara?" I stepped closer, knowing full well I was towering over her and not caring. Just because she was in a chair was no reason that I couldn't use my height to intimidate her. "All of you tossed me out of the family on my rear. _All of you_. You made it quite clear I wasn't needed or _wanted_ in your lives, hell, that I wasn't  worth the air I breathed. So I left. And now I'm suddenly handed this ring and told to come back? And then I find out it's only because I'm suddenly responsible for _his life_? That's not exactly a good way to mending broken bridges, Barb."  
  
She glared right back, not threatened by my height in the least. Half a lifetime of looking up would probably do that. "You didn't have to leave Gotham. You could have stayed. Worked things out," she ground out – rather pointedly ignoring the rest of my, well, rant.  
  
Ah, so we were going to have that discussion about what made me leave Gotham here and now? Suited me fine. "Oh, right," I scoffed. "Like I could have stayed when _everyone_ knew precisely what had happened. You weren't exactly subtle in kicking me out, Barb." Heck, even _Kansas_ had known what had gone down in the Wayne Manor by the time they were through with me. And I should know. Ma and Pa Kent had phoned me about it before I'd disappeared. One factor, among plenty of others, in my decision to drop off the map.  
  
Not that it had done me any good, in the end. Some things, I had never been able to escape. No matter how far I ran.  
  
Barbara, however, didn't quite see it my way. And why did that surprise me? "We didn't kick you out. You _left_."  
  
Oh, like that, was it? I shook my head. "I was _pushed_."  
  
She snorted and rolled back a bit. "Semantics."  
  
"Yeah, well, you know what they say about semantics," I retorted dryly, because otherwise I would've snarled or growled something rather...unpleasant. "Flowers have aroma and skunks stink. Without semantics everything would just smell." One of my erstwhile students had come up with that memorable line. For her sake, I left out the swearing. I shook my head again. "It's all the same, Barb. I left because I was pushed. I was kicked out. I wouldn't have walked out on everyone otherwise." I knew myself too well to say otherwise.  
  
"Whatever," she said dismissively. "We both know what really happened that night."  
  
It took all my control to keep my face still and not rub my leg. It was probably only psychosomatic pain in my knee. Because, yeah, having this 'discussion' was hurting about much as I'd expected it to. "No, Barbara," I replied quietly. "You don't know _what_ levels of hell I went through on That Night." I'd never told anyone the full story of the events leading up my departure from Gotham and the Family. Not even Roy or Donna knew it all, and they'd extracted most of it out of me – they'd gotten me well and truly drunk one night the guise of 'therapy'. Even as plastered as I'd been that night, I'd managed to stay sober enough to keep the important parts to myself.  
  
Suddenly Barbara smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. "You make me laugh, you know that?" She gave a short, bitter laugh, as unpleasant to hear as it probably was to make. "You talk about _your_ pain, about _your_ hurt. You want to know what I think?"  
  
No. But I doubted I could stop her at this point. I kept silent.  
  
Her words were deliberately cutting and hurtful. "I think you were _glad_ to leave Gotham," she spat. "You took the _coward_ 's way out. You _ran_ like a little boy, simpering and crying to your little _Titan_ friends, begging them to hold your hand and lick your _pitiful_ little wounds."  
  
As hurtful as the words were, that wasn't what made me instantly stiffen. It was the words themselves. Barbara knew I'd gone from Gotham to the Titans. She _knew_. While I'd always been aware that I hadn't hidden my tracks real well during that period – mitigating circumstances and all that – that wasn't what I was worried about right now. It was what came after the Titans, and what it lead to. Breathing deep, I forced myself to think quickly. _Damage control, Grayson. Now!_  
  
Perhaps it was true what they said, that the only defense was a good offense. It was what usually worked with Barbara. It would certainly help me also clear a few things up (and cover a few things over) about that while I was at it.  
  
I snorted openly. _If you only knew..._ Getting 'my wounds licked' hadn't been the foremost thing from my mind at the time – and still wasn't. Gotham had left me with far more demons than that. Despite the relatively settled life I'd been leading for the last few years, since I'd finally gotten the things with the Titans worked out, my immediate life after Gotham had been  anything but easy. I had the scars to prove it. "Do not judge me, Barbara," I warned in growl. "Not until you've been where I have. You wouldn't be able to handle it without me to hold your hand."  
  
She could; she was one of the strongest women I knew. But the best way to get her off the Titans was to get her angry. And—  
  
Fire flared in her emerald eyes and I could only watch as she sucked in a deep breath prior to letting fly.  
  
'Whoops.' I braced myself. Now that I'd made her angry...I had to live the results, didn't I? _Forgot about that, didn't you Grayson?_  
  
"And you don't know what it was like after you left," she shot back. The fire in her eyes was a raging bonfire now. "It was left to _me_ to pick up the pieces you left behind. _I_ had to put everyone back together." She wheeled closer, snarling and poking me in the chest. "So don't you _dare_ judge me on what I've gone through without _you_ to 'hold my hand'."  
  
And if sarcasm was liquid, she'd just gone diving into an Olympic-sized pool with that last bit. On the other hand, it was like someone had magically opened a spillover gate. The words were just pouring out of her.  
  
"We did just _fine_ without you. You think we need you? Think  again, Grayson. You _left us_ behind. You _walked_ away, and you _forgot_ about us. And now you think you can waltz right back in here and think that everything's fine? Well, you can just think _again_ if you think I'm going to let you get away with that mister... You've got another thing coming."  
  
Gradually, the flow of words were slowing to a trickle. But somewhere along the line, we'd also changed subjects. How on earth did women do that any way -- or this woman, at least? How _had_ she changed subjects so rapidly?  
  
"You haven't been here... You haven't had to make decisions, not knowing if they were the right ones. Don't. Presume. To. _Judge_. Me. Grayson." She breathed in deep, and said finally, "You...weren't... here."  
  
 _Fine, change the subject. But that discussion isn't over, Barbara. Far from it._ I worked my jaw for a moment to release the tension. All at once, her words about having to make decisions made the doctor's words about the living will flashed through my head. _'The person wearing the signet ring bears full responsibility for his life...'_ It made me wonder exactly what that would entail. "But I am here now, Barb." I closed my eyes for a moment, then forced myself to regard her steadily, even if my voice wasn't as firm. "I don't like having the ring myself," I admitted quietly, not sure why I was saying this to _Barbara_ of all people, "but the decision's made now, and it wasn't made by me. I can't unmake it."  
  
"Perhaps." Barbara regarded me steadily, the fires of anger rapidly cooling in her eyes. "Perhaps not." Then she said something strange that took the wind right out of my sails. "I just hope for your sake that when your moment of truth comes, Dick, you'll know what to do with it." Her voice showed she didn't hold out much hope. With that, she nimbly maneuvered her chair around me and left the solarium.  
  
I stared silently after her retreating back, a shiver of apprehension and foreboding choosing that moment to play a tune on my spine. _Yeah. You and me both, Barb. You and me both._  
  
Shaking my head in resignation, I decided I'd figure out what that thought meant another time, and headed back to Bruce's room. If I really was responsible for Bruce, then I probably should be there.  
  
Just in case.


	8. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That moment of truth? It's already here...

It was a slow walk back to Bruce's room. Barbara had given me a lot to think about, in her own way.  
  
She was right.  
  
I _didn't_ know what it had been like for Barbara - for my former Gotham family - since I'd left. The circumstances of my leaving had prevented that. And yeah, I'll admit that there was a bit of pride on my side, of not wanting to know. But there was also a whole lot of prudence. I couldn't _afford_ to know, to take the chance of reaching out and making the connection. Too much had been at stake.  
  
But she was also wrong.  
  
I didn't know precisely what she was thinking, or what she thought she knew, so I couldn't say precisely how much she was wrong about...but she was wrong about at least two things.  
  
The first thing was what she thought had happened on That Night. But that didn't surprise me. I'd never told anyone what happened. Not really. Not completely. And if I never did, it would be too soon.  
  
The other thing she was wrong about...was me.  
  
I _wasn't_ the same person I'd been when I'd left. It was inevitable, I supposed. Life had happened, and not necessarily in a good way. I'd grown up, matured...changed. I'd had to, just to survive. Experiences gained, lessons learned, it had all changed me, and not necessarily for the better. Life After Gotham had not been pleasant.  
  
But even in amongst all that, one thing about me had never changed. I _hadn't_ forgotten about Gotham, and by extension, the people I'd left behind. I never could. And never would.  
  
Gotham...was an exacting mistress. She left her mark on one's soul like a branding iron. I'd paid my price for loving her, for protecting her. Over and over again. Heck, I was still paying for it, and had a feeling I would be until the day I landed on my deathbed. There had been a steep price for my entry into the Bat-Family. And I'd paid it in blood. My blood, usually.  
  
Just because I'd managed to escape the city limits didn't mean I'd been able to leave Her behind me. The demons and scars in my soul had followed me round the globe. Literally, in some cases.  
  
I could only pray that they hadn't followed me back into Gotham once more. If they had...  
  
 _Don't even think it, Grayson._ I shook my head and forced myself to put the thoughts aside as I strode down the corridor towards Bruce's room. There was nothing I could do about my worries. Not right now. Not until I knew more about what I was dealing with, or at the very least about how Alfred had found me. And that meant waiting for Roy to get back to me. And besides, I still hadn't quite figured out what I was going to do with this ring of Bruce's. I'd just have to play it by ear and hope—  
  
—and hope like anything that what I was hearing wasn't what I thought it was.  
  
Would that I was that lucky.  
  
 _Yeah. Right. And the Joker is actually a sweet old granny in disguise._  
  
I could hear the argument from a long way down the corridor. It sounded like—yes, it was. I'd know Barbara's sharp, cutting, voice anywhere. And she was joined in the argument by at least one unidentified male, going by the answering words of someone trying very hard not to lose their temper. Possibly one more male, judging by the sounds. Two different tenors.  
  
 _Oh, the irony._ At long last. I'd found someone else who could break through Barbara's ice-queen routine besides myself. Although, if _this_ was what Barb and I sounded like... No wonder Alfred had always lost patience with us so rapidly.   
  
On the other hand, it would probably be quite interesting to watch. I'd never had the chance to observe one of Barbara's arguments as a spectator. All too often I was one of the participants.  
  
As I neared, I spotted another observer in the corridor outside. It was the kid Barbara had been dragging around...who looked like he didn't know what had hit him. I grinned to myself. Obviously, he hadn't been around the Family long enough if he didn't know what a Bat Fight looked like.  
  
But as I got closer and could pick out the individual words of the argument, my alarm rose. This wasn't just a Bat fight. It was a medical argument. More to the point, they were arguing over a patient.  
  
They were arguing over _Bruce_.  
  
Which meant that this argument should probably involve me.  
  
 _Lovely._ For once I'd be _complicating_ an argument, not starting one. _Now this makes an interesting change of events._ If only I could just figure out what on earth they were arguing about, then I'd be able to contribute something.  
  
I paused in the doorway to the empty room next to Bruce's, quickly taking in the situation before unobtrusively slipping inside. I could've drawn a line down the room and separated the combatants. Barbara on one side, the doctors on the other. Out of all three doctors, the only one I recognized was Doctor Jak, the one who'd talked to Barbara about Bruce's living will earlier today. Doctor Jak nodded to me, but he was the only one who seemed to notice my presence. The rest just kept on arguing.  
  
Of the doctors, the one doing most of the disputing was apparently called Doctor Wyle, I noticed after a few seconds of observation. The third doctor was Doctor Fowler. Doctor Jak, I noticed, was keeping his counsel to himself in all this.  
  
I looked from one to the other. I was not ashamed to admit that I felt lost amidst all the medical jargon that was being thrown around, and not just because I'd walked in on the middle of this discussion. To be honest, I'd been feeling a little lost from the moment Alfred had shown up on my doorstep. This was just a continuation of that.  
  
I stepped forward and cleared my throat. A few years of teaching unruly kids helped me augment my voice over theirs, even though I wasn't that loud. "What's going on?"  
  
Doctor Wyle looked me up and down, like he couldn't decide if I was a bug or not. "And you are?"  
  
I had to bite my cheek to make sure I didn't give him my 'old' name. "...Dick Grayson. Care to explain what's going on?"  
  
Dr. Fowler glanced at Barbara and shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir," he apologized, relatively civilly considering how firmly he'd been arguing just moments before, "but we can only release that information to immediate family members and whoever holds the medical power of attorney."  
  
 _Ohhh, that bites._ Yeah, I knew I'd been tossed out of the family, but I didn't need some total stranger confirming it. On the other hand, I did have that stupid ring now. I sighed heavily and clenched my hand into a fist so I wouldn't run it through my hair. "Trust me," I replied shortly. "I have the authority to know."  
  
Barbara closed her eyes, a faint expression of pain chasing itself over her features. Then her eyes opened, and she was composed again. She nodded once. "He's right. He has the medical power of attorney." A quick glance my way told me her faint stress over 'medical' was for my ears alone - a stress not necessary, because what authority I had was more than enough for me already. "It's his right to know."  
  
Doctor Jak turned to face me, a curious look passing fleetingly over his face before it settled into acceptance. He was one of the few doctors in this room that knew exactly what it meant for me to have that authority. He was the one that had told them, after all. And I could see he really wanted to know how I'd gained that authority - obtained the ring - when even he'd been able to see that no one had known where it was. He, like a lot of people, no doubt wanted to know where I'd come from and why I was here.  
  
But curiosity passed quickly into acceptance, and I felt a rush of relief that he didn't question me on it in front of everyone. That relief quickly vanished when I heard what he had to say. "It is our assessment that it would be wise at this time to...turn off the life-support machines and allow nature to take its course," he summarized quickly, his face calm, the pleasantness for once gone from his tone. And thank goodness for that. If it had been there, I think I would've punched him. Especially after the last two conversations with Alfred and Barbara.  
  
"You mean you want to let him die," I replied flatly.  
  
Doctor Jak nodded again, still calm. "Yes. Moreover, as you hold the medical power of attorney, may I point out that the _final_ decision is yours to make."  
  
I stared. So I hadn't quite 'connected the dots' that far. Sue me. "Excuse me?"  
  
Still infuriatingly calm, damn him. Maybe that pleasantness wasn't so bad after all. "You hold the medical power of attorney, Mister Grayson. That means you have the power to make the medical decisions for the patient when he is unconscious or otherwise incapacitated, as he clearly is in this case." He paused significantly. "So, do you want us to turn off the machines, or not?"  
  
I opened my mouth to answer...  
  
And closed it just as quickly. The moment of truth Barbara had spoken of had come upon me, far sooner than I'd ever anticipated, and it had found me wanting.  
  
I didn't _know_. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what would be best. For him. Or for me. I needed to know more.  
  
So I asked for more.  
  
And the three doctors told me. They told me _everything_.  
  
They told me about his injuries. About the multiple surgeries that had been required just to keep him alive. About the organ failure of which they were barely keeping abreast. About the intracranial pressure keeping him in the coma. About the brain damage. That him waking up was more of a case of 'if' and 'probably never', not 'when'.  
  
Everything.  
  
I looked at where Bruce would be if not for the wall between the rooms, when they were finally done, and felt a part of my heart I'd thought long dead twist within me. As much as I'd hated him, as much as I still hated him, I knew, I _knew_ , he wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want to live like this, dependent on machines for life. He wouldn't want to be a vegetable.  
  
Me, my feelings, all that, it didn't matter. _This_ did. Because this...that patient on the bed...it wasn't Bruce. It wasn't.  
  
Besides, there was that living will thing to consider, wasn't there? I could still hear the doctor's words in my head as he'd related the terms to Barbara and that kid earlier today: ' _...and he is on life support for the foreseeable future, he wants the machines turned off_.' Not something I could so easily forget.  
  
I knew what I had to do. The kind thing. The humane thing. Not for me. Not for anyone else. But for Bruce. For him. I had to do it. I had to.  
  
I opened my mouth to give them the order...and something about what I planned must have shown on my face. It must have. I happened, just by chance, to glance Barbara's way, and saw it. I saw the desperation, the pain, the _heartbreak_ , twist her features. Emotions so deep, so raw, I could never forget them. But they were there only for a moment, a mere moment at best, and then they were gone as if they had never been, and her stoic mask was back.  
  
But the problem was that I had seen them. I _knew_ they were there, just as she knew what I was planning to say. Her heart might be breaking because of it, but she made no move to stop me. She couldn't. She didn't have the authority to.  
  
I looked across to the doctors, waiting patiently for the final orders. They were used, no doubt, to a little bit of uncertainty on the part of family members, to minds clouded by emotion when it came to this particular decision.  
  
But that was the thing, wasn't it? I _wasn't_ a family member. Not anymore. And my mind was clear.  
  
"No." I shook my head. "Leave him be."  
  
And I turned and walked away before anything more could be said. _Dammit, just get me out of here. Anywhere but here._  
  



	9. Truce

I could see why Barbara escaped here, to the solarium. Even with the rain. Especially with the rain. It suited my mood. Dark, wet, tired, and miserable. Just _lovely_ to be around.  
  
The solarium was a nice enough place. Well designed. Plenty of shiny glass enclosing the greenery. And the glass was in the optimum places to take advantage of what angles the sunlight would reach the solarium from between the surrounding buildings. It would probably be stunning to just stand here and absorb it all, when the sun emerged and beamed its rays into the room. If it ever did 'emerge' in this city. I wasn't too sure it ever did. Even before I'd left, Gotham had always seemed to be shrouded in a permanent pollution haze. Back then, the skies had always been a grayish brown...when it wasn't raining. Or snowing. Or chocked with smog. Or...you get the idea.  
  
Yeah. Obviously, the designer of the solarium had been living in a dreamland. Or high. Take your pick.  
  
Cynical, me? Nah. What tipped you off?  
  
I sighed and settled myself against one the glass walls, amusing myself for a while with watching my breath steam on the glass pane. Silence really was blissful.  
  
It gave me time to consider the ramifications of my decision to let Bruce live.  
  
I wasn't stupid. I knew that the consequences were coming. I'd give it no more than, oh, about two minutes. Probably half that. I hadn't exactly hidden my tracks on my way here, although I probably should have. I really wasn't looking forward to it.  
  
No sane man, after all, looks forward to facing a firing squad. Okay, so this...wasn't going to be quite _that_ bad. But still...give me a choice between the two, and I'd take the firing squad. At least then, I'd know what to expect.  
  
On the other hand, I'd known it was coming from the moment I'd seen Barbara's face just after I'd given the order, so what was I complaining about? I'd brought this upon myself, when you looked at it like that.  
  
Yeah. Just another bullet I couldn't dodge.  
  
In the meantime, I might as well enjoy the silence while I could. Because it certainly wasn't going to last long. The sadistic part of my brain started counting the seconds. Just to torture me. It was like a countdown, except in reverse, and I knew what was going to be at the end of it. Not an explosion, but something as equally unpleasant and inescapable.  
  
I stayed where I was and waited for it to come to me. No sense in putting off the inevitable.  
  
Precisely one minute and a forty-five seconds after my entry into the solarium, I heard someone else enter. I didn't have to turn around to know that this, this very moment, was one of the consequences I'd been expecting.  
  
"Why'd you do it?" Her voice, though soft, carried easily to where I stood.  
  
Ah, I'd been waiting for this. For that. For her.  
  
She was late. To be honest, I'd actually thought she'd get here fifteen seconds ago.  
  
And if I answered, I'd be encouraging her to stay. On the other hand, I didn't necessarily have to play along, did I? Because, really, there were a number of things that 'it' could apply to. Up to and including not sticking around for her to have it out with me in public.  
  
Yeah. I wished it was that simple.  
  
"Do what?" I replied calmly, even though I refused to turn around and face her. Instead I stayed leaning on the cool glass, staring out into the rainstorm outside even though I didn't actually see any of it.  
  
I heard her roll closer. Crushed granite crunched subtly under her chair as she moved...and besides, her wheels needed oiling. "Don't play dumb with me, Dick," she retorted, her voice hardening. "You know precisely what I'm talking about."  
  
I did? Like I said, 'it' could have been anything. I stayed silent.  
  
"Back there, with the doctors," she huffed, too impatient to wait for me to figure it out on my own -- which was absolutely fine by me. "Why'd you let him live?"  
  
That was pretty much what I'd expected 'it' to be. But I'd wanted her to admit it anyway. Still, I shrugged and said nothing. This reminded me, I abruptly realized, of the conversation I'd had with Roy, after Alfred had given me the ring. When Roy had straightened my head out again. Similar situation. I'd been looking out through a window, seeing nothing, while someone else had been asking me questions I hadn't wanted to answer. Déjà vu, anyone?  
  
And Barbara, like Roy, was nothing short of persistent. "Why'd you let him live?" she repeated. "It was obvious to everyone that wasn't what you were going to do at first."  
  
Why, oh why, did that sound so much like an accusation? _Probably because it is,_ I answered myself dully. I wordlessly tracked one of the drops of glass on the water with my eyes, following it down until it went out of my range of vision.  
  
"What changed your mind?"  
  
I started on another drop of water. Maybe if I ignored her long enough, she'd go away. Yeah, and maybe my bad leg would stop hurting everytime it rained. Which was kind of like asking for, oh, maybe something like the sun rising in the west? Not very likely.  
  
"Let me guess. You decided to keep him around to torment us?" she asked now, bitterness creeping in.  
  
I snorted mentally at that. If anything, if I'd known that my decision would lead to _this_ level of interrogation, I was pretty sure I would've chosen a little differently. I wasn't that much of a masochist. It was enough to make me wonder why I'd bothered.  
  
The wheels squeaked again, and I had to focus on not visibly tensing. She was even closer now, which meant she'd also be blocking my only escape route. "Do you hate us - hate him - that much?"  
  
Releasing a hard breath, I stopped tracking the water droplets and closed my eyes. Really, if _that_ was all she thought of me... "I didn't do it because of that," I told her abruptly, my voice firm. I knew that for a certainty. That, at least, was clear, when so little else was these days. I might still hate Bruce...but I knew I hadn't been thinking about my feelings when I'd given the order to let him _live_.  
  
If I had been...he'd be dead right now.  
  
"Then _why_ did you do it?" Barbara pushed, as unrelenting as ever.  
  
Of course, I'd already made the mistake of actually answering her, so what else did I expect? I sighed and wondered idly if it was too late for the firing squad I'd been wishing for before her arrival.  
  
Probably.  
  
"Not for the reasons you think," I finally replied. I was pretty certain of that. If she had no idea why I'd made that decision, then she wouldn't know my reasons. How could she? I barely did myself. Not completely. That was partly why I'd made the decision to come here. To think.  
  
And for the privacy for this little showdown, but that was immaterial in some ways. I doubted Barbara would care where this little "discussion" happened. I did.  
  
"Oh really?" she shot back, sarcasm plain to hear. "And what reasons would those be?"  
  
I shook my head and leaned my forehead against the cool glass. She wasn't ready to hear them. "Does it matter, Barbara?" I asked wearily. I so badly wanted to sit down, to get my weight off my aching leg, but didn't dare reveal any sign of weakness in front of her. More to the point, I just wanted this conversation to be over already. "My decision stands."  
  
I didn't have to look to know she'd crossed her arms. It was her classic reaction to not getting her way. "I think they _do_ matter, _Dick_. I think—"  
  
Not for the first time, I wished I had a better nickname. "If you can't be civil to me, _Barbara_ ," I interrupted firmly, "at least have the decency to call me Richard." _Anything_ was better than hearing her twist my parents' nickname for me.  
  
"Fine, _Richard_ ," she replied, positively glacial. But it was better than 'Dick' coming from her. "But you still haven't answered me and told me _why_."  
  
Yeah, I kind of _knew_ that. She wouldn't still be here if I'd answered her. And the way this was going, she'd question me till the proverbial cows came home to get what she wanted out of me. On the other hand, refusing her was a lot of fun. Annoying as hell, but fun. When _was_ the last time someone had denied her anything?  
  
Probably just before I'd left, knowing my luck.  
  
I sighed and unobtrusively rubbed the side of my face. Man, was I tired. I didn't want to count how many hours I'd been on the go; it was a total I already knew would be too depressing if I did. Problem: I tended to get a little...tetchy when I didn't have enough sleep in the last twenty-four hours to function properly. Other problem: at this point, it was probably more like the last _forty-eight_ hours.  
  
I rubbed my face again. I was getting too old for this tomfoolery.  
  
Apparently, I'd been silent a little too long for her liking, and I heard her take a deep breath. Probably to give herself time to soothe that temper of hers, because when she did speak again, she did sound calmer. Less icy. "He doesn't want this, you know. You had _no right_ to—"  
  
"I know," I interrupted, cutting her off. I had no desire to hear the rest of that particular diatribe. Especially when I was already thinking it and wondering where on earth I'd gone wrong.  
  
Silence for a few heartbeats as Barbara tried to figure out my meaning. "What do you mean, 'you know'?" she prompted. "You knew he didn't he didn't want it, or that you had no right to force it on him?"  
  
I was definitely ignoring that last remark. Because I _was_ within my rights. Stupid ring. "I meant that I knew he didn't want it," I explained patiently. I kept my gaze focused on the water-soaked glass and waited for the explosion. _Here it comes..._  
  
Did you know that even with your back turned, you can still feel it when someone narrows their eyes at you?  
  
"How do you know _that_?" she demanded.  
  
I shrugged easily. "I have good hearing, Barbara, you know that." Or at least she used to. "I overhead a bit of that conversation about that living will of Bruce's, about how..." deep breath, "about how he wanted the machines turned off if he was going to be on them for the foreseeable future." Yeah. Not as easy to say aloud as it had seemed in my head.  
  
Silence.  
  
Then...  
  
"You  knew." Glacial was too warm a word for Barbara's voice. "And you still did it."  
  
I shuddered despite myself. And wished I'd brought with me a heavier jacket.  
  
 _Oh, just tell her. Tell her already and get her off your back_. Yeah, and talking to myself like I did was _so_ healthy.  
  
Her fine lips curled in a snarl. "You bas—"  
  
"Would you like to know why?" I interrupted, determinedly ignoring the hollow resignation in the pit of my stomach. _This is gonna go over so well. Not._ She might not be ready to hear this, but she was simply too persistent for her own good. Besides, I've heard that particular word too many times since That Night and afterwards; I had no desire to hear it again, especially from her.  
  
"Try me." Her voice told me anything I had to say wouldn't change her opinion.  
  
I kind of doubted it would either. Still, I'd made the offer, so there was no going back now. I sighed, closed my eyes, and tried to relax my shoulders. "I did it because of you."  
  
Silence. Absolute silence. The kind of silence where the sound of a mere pin landing on the floor would shatter it. Slowly, I turned to face her, and had the pleasant privilege of seeing her stare at me, wide-eyed in amazement. For _once_ in my life, I'd managed to shut the woman up. Somehow, it wasn't as pleasant a feeling as I'd imagined.  
  
Sighing again, I raised my eyes and met her gaze. "I did it for you, Barbara," I admitted quietly. "I saw..." I shook my head. "It doesn't matter what I saw." I'd give her that dignity. Some things shouldn't have to be said. "I figured you... You weren't ready to say goodbye. Not just now. So I said 'No'."  
  
Barbara rocked back in her chair, clearly thrown by my confession. The chair rolled back with her, clearing the way for an escape - if I was quick enough to take it. I eyed the revealed path warily. I'd have to time it just right if I wanted to get out of here before she realized she'd unblocked the sole exit. I turned my attention back to her.  
  
Even as I watched, she pulled herself back together. It was like watching a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle come together at high-speed. "You did it for me..." she echoed slowly, softly.  
  
I nodded. And waited. I had the sense that we were standing on the edge of a precipice. On both sides, it was a long way down into darkness, and ahead of us was a fine line to walk to safety. Whichever way things went from here, it wasn't going to be pretty.  
  
It wasn't. Her jaw firmed. "Fine. You believe that if you must." She narrowed her eyes at me. "But I think we both know that's not what really happened, don't we?"  
  
I tensed. _What the hell...? Where's this coming from?_  
  
"You didn't do it for me. That's just your excuse to soothe your conscience. You didn't do it for anyone except _yourself_ ," she spat, emerald eyes flashing. "You did it to watch him _suffer_. You make me  sick, _Richard_."  
  
Right. Even if it had taken me a while, I'd given her what she wanted, and she gave me _this_ in return?  
  
I _did not_ have to stay here and put up with this.  
  
Because I was right. She wasn't ready to hear it, to realize the truth. Maybe when she'd calmed down, she'd appreciate what I had given her. I smiled sadly, and just shook my head. "It doesn't matter what _you_ think, Barbara. I know the truth. And my decision stands." For now. When she was ready, when she was done saying goodbye... I'd know. Only then would my decision change.  
  
Even after all this time, I still owed her that much.  
  
I turned away and strode out of there as quickly as possible, a small part of me wishing that there was a door somewhere that I could slam shut between me and her. Childish? Yeah, maybe. But defensive? Definitely.  



	10. Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His day is going from bad to worse to abysmal. Why did he come back here again?

I didn't get very far from the solarium. Barely five paces down the hospital corridor, in fact. That was as far as I got before I met something that stopped me dead in my tracks.  
  
Alfred.  
  
He stood before me, blocking the gangway like a six foot high black-and-white brick wall. Immutable and immovable. And judging by the look on his face, I was _not_ getting past until he'd said whatever it was he had on his mind.  
  
Oh joy. This was gonna be _fun_.  
  
"Master Richard."  
  
I winced inside. Somehow, a name that was civil coming from Barbara always seemed to be laced with disappointment whenever he said it. "Hello Alfred," I nodded, managing to sound calm and unaffected. Don't ask me how.  
  
He gestured lightly towards a nearby empty room. "Shall we adjourn to over there, Master Richard?" It was _not_ , I noticed, a suggestion.  
  
I nodded anyway and followed behind him into the room, increasingly feeling like I was a lamb being led to the slaughter. Whatever he had to say to me, he obviously didn't want to say it in the corridor, where everyone could hear, and see, and thus witness him no doubt tearing strips off me.  
  
Yep. Looking forward to it already.  
  
It was a nice enough room. Like Bruce's. Sunny yellow walls. Sheer white curtains over wooden blinds. Not a room one would tend to be depressed in, usually, but these weren't exactly normal circumstances. I let the door shut behind me and came to stop just inside the doorway and waited for Alfred to start talking from his spot near the center of the room, close to the empty bed. It didn't take him long. These things never did.  
  
He raised his chin. "I wish to thank you for what you did for the Master," he told me stiffly, as if he didn't really want to thank me but the words were being drawn out of him anyway, by his own innate sense of manners...or by some hideous torture he must stoically endure. More evidence that something had changed between him and I. But _what_?  
  
"I...thank you." I wasn't sure what else to say. Not quite the olive-branch I'd been expecting, given our last conversation, let alone how this whole thing had started out. But then, I'd never quite been able to fathom Alfred's depths.  
  
Then Alfred's eyes turned flinty, and the atmosphere around him shifted to ice. I knew instantly I was in trouble. In the past, Alfred's eyes had always been the best indicator of his mood, more so than his facial expression - it was probably the British in him - and right now, those eyes were telling me I was in his black books. Probably for life. This was _not_ good. "Not at all what I'd expected from a man of your caliber and background," he sniffed disdainfully.  
  
I stared. First Barbara ripped into me, and now Alfred? Where was all this vitriol coming from? What on earth had I done to tick them off? Except to leave when they so obviously hadn't wanted me around? Was _that_ what this was all about? It'd be a relief if it were, in some ways. That, I could handle. It was definitely better than if this were about Bruce, like Barbara's disagreements tended to be. Especially than if all this were about...other things.  
  
"What do you mean, my 'caliber and background'?" I shot back, trying to sound as if I was genuinely insulted and not more than a little suspicious. I told myself to calm down. It was probably nothing. I was probably just paranoid after all these years of looking over my shoulder. I was just jumping at imaginary shadows, again. It wouldn't be the first time.  
  
"I mean what I said," he retorted stiffly. "I thought you to be better than that."  
  
Why did I have the feeling that we were no longer talking about Bruce? Or about how I'd left? "Better than _what_ , Alfred?" I shook my head, letting only a thin edge of my frustration bleed into my voice. With luck, he'd think it was frustration at how obtuse he was being. "You're not making any _sense_." Maybe it was my paranoia talking, but...he could be making a whole lot of sense, and in all the wrong ways. There were things in my past that I wasn't proud of, and that I knew Alfred wouldn't be happy about either once he found about them.  
  
He stared at me steadily. "Then I shall make it easy for you. Philadelphia. Six months after you...left."  
  
Oh.  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
Right.  
  
That shadow I'd been jumping at? Not so imaginary after all.  
  
A part of me froze and my mouth instantly ran dry as a litany of curses ran through my head. This was _not_ good. Obviously, Alfred had found out about Philly in his search for me. But how much did Alfred know? How deeply had he dug into those events? And if he had managed to find out about...that...what else did he know? How badly had we been penetrated?  
  
See, Philadelphia had been...bad. It was part of the time I'd been in the process of setting up the same system that helped hide me all these years, and I'd been doing it with the Titans' help. But we'd had a few, well, teething problems, and some of those problems...hadn't exactly been good for my general state of health. Philadelphia had been one of the 'teething problems' that had nearly killed me. The circumstances leading up to the conclusion of that whole matter weren't much better, come to think of it. That was one whole stinking mess that we should never have got involved in. I could see why Alfred wouldn't have approved of it, if he'd found out about it. Hell, I _still_ didn't approve of it, and I'd been involved in it up to my neck.  
  
And if I was reading him right, it seemed that he _had_ learned about it. (Hopefully it was _only_ Philly, and not some of our other...teething problems.)  
  
On the other hand, if this was some sort of bluff, to see if he could find out more or to simply see if I'd react, then I didn't like it. Not one freakin' bit. It still meant that someone someone had let something slip they shouldn't have. Not enough to be reveal the whole system, but just enough to be dangerous. The only thing was, with the Bats involved, 'just enough to be dangerous' could be very dangerous indeed. And to more than just me.  
  
Damn, but this would be so much easier if I knew _how_ Alfred had found me.  _C'mon, Roy, what's taking so freakin' long?_  
  
See, it all came back to 'if', didn't it? 'If' I knew this, if Alfred knew that. 'If' this, 'if' that. Could this, could that. And it all depended on how I reacted to Alfred's bluff - if it really was one. I really hoped it was - a bluff, that is, a feint just to see what I knew and how I'd react. I hated to think what it meant if it wasn't.  
  
I returned his stare just as steadily, just barely managing to keep my face neutral. "What about it?" I shrugged easily. deciding I could bluff just as well as he apparently could. "So I was in Philadelphia for a while. What's the big deal?"  
  
"The 'big deal', young man," he said, drawing himself to his full height, "is that you were in that fair city at the very time of the Scarfo Marfia family murders. Do I need to—"  
  
Yep. Just as I'd feared. Compromised to the hilt. The only question was _how_.  
  
"No." I cut him off. Not because I didn't want to hear it - actually, I very badly wanted, no, _needed_ to hear how badly compromised we were -- but because this wasn't the place. Not here, not now, not in the open, in a room where just anyone could walk in at any time. "Whatever you're about to say, Alfred, or whatever you _think_ you may know, I don't care," I told him, deliberately making my voice hard. Besides, if he thought I didn't care, then maybe he'd let something slip that he thought I wouldn't pick up on. Or maybe he'd just carry on the conversation anyway. He was stubborn like that. Or at least he had been.  
  
I told myself it didn't matter, when I saw something in his eyes flicker and die. It hurt, yes, but I knew I could learn to live with Alfred lowering his opinion of me. I had to. What was a little more disappointment in me, in my life? His life, and the lives of the rest, of the others, were far more important. My concerns - my life - simply weren't as important in the bigger scheme of things.  
  
The old man's expression shut down. "It is no 'mere' coincidence, young man."  
  
"You're wrong about that, Alfred. It _is_ a coincidence." Yeah. Right. _Pigs might fly first, before I believe that._ I shook my head. "What it also _is_ is the past. It has no bearing on the present." _I hope._ "Let alone the man I am now." I levelled my gaze at him steadily. I'd seen Bruce face him down when I was younger, so surely it couldn't be too hard. Could it? "Time moves on. I've changed." I firmed my voice, hoping he'd hear in that how much I believed in what I was saying - or failing that, that I could convince him I believed. "I'm not the kid I once was when I left."  
  
"At least you acknowledge you were a child when you left," he shot back coolly.  
  
"I never said I wasn't," I replied quietly. "It just wasn't much of a child _hood_." It had been one of those blink-and-you-miss-it things. I don't think I was ever much a child in the true sense of the word. Even before the fateful trip to Gotham and _that_ performance that upended my entire world and killed my parents, I wasn't your normal kid. Getting up at the crack of dawn (or earlier) to load and unload trailers, to set up sites and take them down, to help take care of our animals, or simply to train, had simply been a part of my everyday routine.  
  
Damn, but I missed those simple days.  
  
My parent's death changed everything. My world changed in an instant. I lost the circus and my only connection with my parents, went to Juvie, then the streets, back to Juvie again, and then to the Manor. I'll never forget those early days. As much as I sometimes wish I could. I still didn't know how Alfred and Bruce managed to keep me at the Manor as long as they did, before I learned The Secret - before I figured it out for myself. I hadn't exactly been the most pleasant person to be around.  
  
I won't deny that it surprised me to see a flash of pain cross Alfred's features, apparently as he too recalled what once had been. Given everything that had happened since, and the way it had all fallen apart, it was startling and unexpected that anyone else remembered, let alone had cause to feel anything over it. Besides me. "I fear that is at least partly my fault, young Richard," he sighed, as he shifted slightly to lean against the bed behind him. "Master Bruce took his cues in how to deal with you from me, and I confess that I never quite knew what to do with you. It had been years since that old house had a young child in it, and it quite suffered from the lack. Perhaps things would have gone better had I been more open to your presence from the beginning."  
  
Well. That was...out of left field. I said nothing. What _was_ there to say to that?  
  
He raised his eyes to meet mine, and it was...humbling. Like everything standing between us was stripped away and I could see down to his core.  
  
I dropped my eyes and looked away.  
  
Alfred shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "Will you be seeing Master Bruce, now?" he inquired, in the way he had that left you feeling it wasn't really a suggestion.  
  
I tried to resist him. I really did. But the apple really did never fall too far from the tree after all, and I knew that I'd been raised by this man too long to disobey him now. "I was just going to see him now," I replied, trying not sound too defensive. "Before you pulled me in here, that is."  
  
"Then I shall not take up any more of your time, young Richard." Alfred nodded faintly as he shifted his weight again to stand properly once more. "And do try not be too hard on the others. Their life has not been easy in the years you've been away."  
  
It was...strange...how he could have made my full name sound at first a measure of his disappointment in me, and now when he'd said it I could almost hear a few stirrings of the subtle affection that had shadowed my initial years in the Manor. Yeah. And in between thinking on that, and taking the time to _blink_ , Alfred promptly disappeared from the room.  
  
Strange man. Stranger family. And to think I'd once been a part of that? Hell, that I was now _responsible_ for the life of man who'd made it all happen? I sighed and rubbed at the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the tension headache I could feel coming on. It wasn't very successful.  
  
I sighed and left the room myself, deciding I'd worry about it all later. When I had the time and the energy, and when I was feeling a little more awake and less sore. Preferably also after a few hours of sleep, but I'd done the hospital merry-go-round often over the years that I knew to take what I could. After a moment's thought, I headed towards Bruce's room. Seeing as I was responsible for him, I really should be there. I'd been away long enough.  
  
I paused mid-stride when I felt the tell-tale vibration on my hip, where I'd concealed my phone under my shirt and jacket. I'd left it on, waiting for the call from Roy. Hospital regulations aside, this was one call I could _not_ afford to miss. Besides, this wasn't exactly a standard cell phone. Normal phones, for one, don't come with top-of-the-line scramblers attached as a inbuilt feature. Nor were they as safe to operate in a hospital as this one was. There were advantages to working in the superhero business.  
  
Looking around, I spotted a quiet alcove in which I would probably not be noticed, as long as I talked softly, and made my way there as quickly as I could. Pulling the phone off my belt, I unfolded it and answered. "It's me."  
  
And as I'd expected, it was Roy. "Hello, me. Scrambler on?"  
  
"Of course." Even I could hear the warmth in my voice. Finally, there was a bit of familiarity after so much that was not. "You too, Red."  
  
Even from here, a phoneline and advanced technology between us, I could hear him roll his eyes. "I'm not even gonna grace that with a reply. And don't call me 'Red'."  
  
"Sure thing...'Red'." Even though I was away from the corridor and talking softly, I knew I would be seen and overhead. And the only reason most men would be so eager to take a call in a hospital would be if it was from a girlfriend. Hence the subterfuge.  
  
Roy, at least, was smart enough to roll with punches. "Like that, huh? Fair enough. Makes what I've got to say easier. 'Cause you're not gonna like this, Robbie."  
  
For once, I didn't complain about the nickname. If I got to call him 'Red', it stood to reason that he got to call me something I equally hated. Too many memories. "I didn't think I would."  
  
"Remember that assassination attempt? When we were still getting the system up and running and you were in the process of disappearing?"  
  
Unbidden, my free hand snuck up to my left eye and the scars there, hidden under my sunglasses. Catching myself, I smoothly turned the gesture into running my hand through my hair instead. "Yeah. You were there too, ya know."  
  
"Don't remind me," Roy snorted. "It's a long story, but, well, that's how the old dude found you."  
  
I clenched my eyes shut for a long moment, beyond cursing. Bad enough he knew about Philadelphia. This was worse. Like a match to an atom bomb kind of worse. "I thought we'd buried that," I said finally. Well, as much as anyone _could_ bury something that explosive... but it was surprising what you could do when you were motivated. And there _was_ surprisingly little to found on that little 'misadventure' when we were done with it. Like no footnotes in any historical encyclopedias. Less than that, even. We were...very thorough.  
  
"So did I. But the old man's got contacts we didn't know about."  
  
 _Well, duh._ That was partly why Bruce had kept him around. That, and he made one awesome hot chocolate. With marshmallows. The whole long-serving family employee and house-keeping things were probably just bonuses. Cynical, me? Not so much. "I did warn you about that, if I recall."  
  
He gave a short, harsh laugh. "Save me the 'told you so's for if you get of there, Robbie."  
  
Despite myself, I tensed. _If you get of there..._ A lump of foreboding coalesced in the pit of my stomach. Why did I not like the phrasing of that? "What is it?"  
  
I could hear him take a deep breath. Which didn't bode well. I'd taught him that technique, and knew precisely the parameters of the situations in which he'd want he'd want to use it.  
  
I closed my eyes and braced my shoulder against the wall. For this, I had the feeling I'd need the physical support. "Out with it, Red," I ordered again, hearing but ignoring the traces of tiredness that were creeping into my words.  
  
"You can't go back." Pause. "And don't _call_ me that."  
  
I ignored that last bit. Because I was right. That physical support was coming in real handy about now. I cursed under my breath in a few dozen languages. I knew precisely what he meant by 'back' -- back _home_.  My home. And I didn't mean the flea-bitten hotel I was renting in Gotham. Or - perish the thought - the Wayne Manor. I meant my _real_ home: my apartment and my motorcycle half a world away, now gathering dust. I opened my eyes only to stare sightlessly at the floor. "Why not?" Damn. I hoped my voice didn't sound as desolate to him as it did to me.  
  
"Alfred was subtle about his digging, real subtle, but his contacts... Someone let something slip to the wrong person, and it snowballed. _Bad_. Like an avalanche kind of bad. The League of Assassin's been after information about that little adventure of ours for _years_ , and now they've got a lead with your name on it... Your old one. They're throwing everything and everyone at it." His voice turned wry. "I think we outdid ourselves on this one, Robbie. We buried it _too well_."  
  
I snorted. Nothing like a price on one's head to make a man feel appreciated. Even if it was on my...old identity. Oh, and didn't that hurt to think. On the other hand...a flash of perversity made me ask, "How much?"  
  
"Uh... Let me just say that if this tip-off is right, Mr. J R Harley has just outdone the entire hero community combined. No mean feat, that."  
  
 _Ouch._ Even before I'd been tossed out of Gotham, Batman's head alone hadn't exactly been cheap. I couldn't imagine that it'd gotten any lower while I'd been out of the game. _Well, you've really outdone yourself now, Grayson._ Sighing to myself, I brought my free arm up, braced it against the wall, and leaned my forehead on it. "What do you want me to do?" Even though I'd designed the system that had kept me - and countless others-- hidden, the protocols of what to do when it all went to hell in a hand-basket were Roy's brainchild. Due to various circumstances I didn't care to remember, I'd been too 'out of it' when the time had come to design those.  
  
"Not much we can do," he sighed. "Stay put, for the moment. It doesn't look like they've traced you back to where you are now."  
  
Well, there was a reassuring thought. On the other hand, the first sign that they'd traced me back here would probably be another assassination attempt, after which I'd be too dead to worry anymore, so what was I complaining about? "Right. Just...give me time to think about it, okay Red?"  
  
"Sure thing, _Robbie_ ," he agreed cheerfully. But then it wasn't his neck on the line, was it? "Ring me when you're done thinking. If I don't ring you first with more."  
  
And then he was gone. Without a goodbye, as usual.  
  
Sighing to myself, I folded the phone back up and placed it back on my belt and covered it with my shirt and jacket once more. Staring at the wall blankly, I found myself tossing over Roy's news for a couple of seconds before I eventually decided to do as he said and put it aside. There was, really, nothing I could do...but sit it out and wait and see what happened. _Joy. About as much fun as sitting and waiting for the sky to fall in._  
  
And one of these days, I really should learn not to talk myself so much.  
  
Snorting to myself in disgust, I turned away from the wall—and promptly stopped short. There, right there, no more than a few yards away down the corridor was Barbara. Sitting in her wheelchair. Staring at me with undefinable emotions - or at least, with something I dared not define - deep within her eyes.  
  
And knowing my luck, she'd heard at least part of my conversation with Roy from this end. I swallowed. Hard. That, combined with our last conversation, told me one thing: this was not gonna end well.  
  
Actually, it told me two things. One, this wasn't gonna be a good conversation, which I already knew. Secondly, I wanted to go home. I was _done_ being a good prodigal son for poor Bruce. I wanted my _home_. Considering I had no chances of escaping the former or getting the latter, I mentally squared my shoulders and faced her head-on.  
  
"Hello Barbara."  
  



	11. Subtlety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Cataclysmic' might be a better description of his day. This Gotham has no sense of irony.

The silence stretched between us, like mold on a damp bathroom wall: invasive, pervasive, and uncomfortable.  
  
Finally Barbara spoke. "Richard," she said, addressing me in a cool, quiet voice that cut me to the quick.  
  
 _Like that, is it?_ But then, I'd asked her to call me that, hadn't I? At least she wasn't arguing with me. Yet. I wasn't foolish enough to lay money on how long that would last. In the meantime, it made for a nice change. I nodded back to her. "Barbara."  
  
The silence lasted for a few moments longer.  
  
"So..." Barbara began. "This 'Red'..."  
  
I braced myself. Knowing Barbara and the intervening years between us, the next words out of her could be anything. And I meant _anything_.  
  
"...She finally breaking up with you?"  
  
But somehow, I hadn't quite expected _that_. I blinked.  
  
Barbara must've seen something in my expression, because she smirked at me. Her expression reminded me a bit of a shark, and made me think that having her arguing with me might just be better. "You know, 'Red', the girl on the phone just now?" she prompted, still smirking. "The one who was demanding your money and telling you what to do even as she dumped you?"  
  
 _Say what...?_  
  
Oh.  
  
Suddenly, I realized what had happened, and I felt like kicking myself. She had indeed listened in on my phone conversation with Roy, but had only caught the end of it, most likely from about where he'd been telling how much the price on my head was. I mentally reviewed the last few moments of the phone conversation, and immediately realized how my end must have sounded to an outside observer. I could immediately see where she was coming from, but I'd never expected _Barbara_ of all people to be taken in by my ruse of talking to a "girlfriend". I'd always thought she was smarter than that.  
  
"Oh, that 'Red'," I said, somewhat lamely. As if there was another Red in my life. But she didn't need to know that. I just wasn't used to _others_ calling Roy that. A certain archer was going to kill me for letting her hear that name - or have words with me at the very least. "Uh, yeah, it went something like that." I mustered up a weak smile for her. "Why?"  
  
"Nothing." Now she just looked smug and bitter, a rather strange combination. "Just glad I managed to see you finally get your comeuppance."  
  
Right. Whatever. I rubbed my eyes and wished futilely for a week's sleep. "Yeah, well, show's over, Barbara. Move along." The only thing I knew for certain was that I was _done_ being the local whipping-boy. Especially her's. She needed to find someone else to argue with. "Or was there something you wanted me to do for you?"  
  
She snorted. "Typical Grayson. Just like you to run when the heat's on."  
  
"I beg your pardon." Now _that_ I found offensive. If she only knew... "Don't say things you know nothing about, Barbara," I warned her, my tone hard. "And I'm not running." This was me, standing right here, talking to her. Noticeably _not_ running.  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"Either tell me what you came here for, Barbara, or leave, because I'm in no mood for this."  
  
Barbara just stared at me coolly for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was only a shade above frigid. The Ice Queen was back. Joy. "I only came looking for you to see if you would watch over Bruce for a few hours. I have things I need to do and its high time you lived up to your end of the bargain."  
  
Bruce. Right. It always came back to _Bruce_.  
  
And of course she wanted _me_ to watch Bruce. She wanted her Oracle time so she could research my past. And she wanted my permission to do it. Oh the irony.  
  
Someone, please shoot me now. It'd probably be more pleasant than _this_.  
  
I forced myself to exhale steadily. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be there." I did _not_ offer her any explanation as to where I'd been or what I'd be doing. If she couldn't extend a few common courtesies in my direction, I didn't see any reason to meet her halfway. Let me just say that I now had few more pressing concerns than her injured pride.  
  
"Fine. See you then," she nodded shortly, then wheeled about and quickly propelled herself away as if she couldn't wait to be out of my presence.  
  
The feeling was probably mutual. Or at least it would have been if I could think past the shock and tiredness to know what I was feeling.  
  
Blowing out a hard breath, I gathered the shreds of my patience and looked around. A part of me had the vague sense we'd been making a scene, although I knew intellectually it really wasn't so. We hadn't actually had an audience. (We also hadn't got to the throwing stage. Yet.) Thank heavens for small favors. Instead it had been...awkward, and rather painful for being a public conversation.  
  
Now, all I really wanted was a minute to myself, and some time to gather my defenses. And my courage.  
  
For years before I'd "left" Gotham, time alone with Bruce had been...difficult. Our relationship had become strained, to put it politely - and I could think of a few harsher terms to describe it. I couldn't imagine that it was going to be much better now, even with him unconscious.  
  
Spotting a men's room, I made my way over, not hurriedly, but not slowly either. I let the door fall shut behind me, but didn't bother to try and lock it. I wasn't going to be here that long, and this floor wasn't very busy anyway. WE's security people were probably keeping it that way on purpose, but right now all I cared about was that it meant I wouldn't be interrupted for a while.  
  
I went over to the sink and leaned over the basin, and ran the cold water. Splashing the water over my face, I rubbed my cheeks in the vague hope that it might help me wake up. Between the exacting day I'd had before Alfred had dropped his bombshell on me, the long process of changing my identity and traveling to Gotham, and everything that had happened since I'd set foot in this hellhole, I was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. In the last thirty-six hours, I'd managed about four hours of sleep. Maybe less. My reserves hadn't run this low since the last time I'd been Gotham. And while I did see the irony in that, I didn't much appreciate it. Not while I was the one living through it.  
  
Bracing my weight on the sink, I looked at myself in the mirror. Would it be clichéd to say I wasn't sure I recognized myself? Who was it, standing there on the opposite side of the mirror, with the bags under his eyes, the longish black hair that needed a haircut, and the black leather jacket that had seen better days? Was that really me? What had happened to the confident adult I'd expected to be? Was I really that old? Where had the years gone?  
  
What on earth was I _doing_ here? More to the point, why did I agree to take that stupid ring in the first place? Heck, why did I open up the door to _Alfred_? Why didn't I just ignore him until he went away?  
  
"So. You're the one in charge of Bruce, huh?"  
  
I jumped a little, and cursed myself for not hearing the door open. Or thinking to lock it in the first place.  
  
That did it. First chance I had, I was grabbing some sleep, no matter what anyone said.  
  
I analyzed the voice first. Young. Teenager. Past the cracking-voice stage. Not deep, but not rough either, which meant his throat wasn't quite used to growling, wasn't used to decades of misuse as a vigilante, but was still quite capable of menace in its own way. And all of said menace was currently directed at me.  
  
Great. So this was 'the kid', huh?  
  
 _Joy._  
  
I turned to face him, and noticed his body first. So _young_. Trying to be trim, fit. As any vigilante worth his salt should be. Broad shoulders, slim waist, lean frame... too lean. Scrawny. He might be fit, but there was definitely not enough muscles on him if he was out fighting on rooftops at night. What _was_ this _kid_ doing with _Bruce_? With _Batman_?  
  
And then I got my first good look at the face attached to that body.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
I turned away from him, back towards the mirror, closing my eyes and ignoring the pain that burst open inside my heart, deep within, at the sight of the too-intelligent blue eyes and the jet-black hair. And couldn't help but wonder if it was real or, G-d forgive me, dyed. Because I knew  exactly who Bruce had been trying to replace. And what this kid was doing with Batman.  
  
It was there in the kid's eyes. In his _face_.  
  
And it was there in the same face I saw everytime I looked in the mirror. It was just older now. More weathered. Hopefully wiser.  
  
 _Dammit, Bruce. Couldn't you be just a bit more subtle?_  
  



	12. Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kid. Bruce. Dick. And a men's room. Not necessarily in that order.

I turned the water back on and plunged my hands back into the sink. It was more for the sake of something to _do_ than because I actually wanted my hands wet, again. "Hello to you too, kid."  
  
"You didn't answer me."  
  
I didn't even need to look the kid's way to see how he was glowering at me. Arms crossed, belligerent stare (or an attempt at one), feet wide; it was a classic intimidation stance. Except that this kid was nowhere near Bruce's level of intimidation. He had _a lot_ of growing up to do first. I rolled my eyes and stared up at my own face in the mirror. "You didn't say 'hello'." Even to me, my voice sounded flat, tired, and hollow. However, I was willing to bet that the kid hadn't picked up on it yet.  
  
"So."  
  
I rolled my eyes again. "So," I mimicked. I even managed to pick up the bad tone and all. In any other place and time, this kid could be a lot of fun to mess with. If I was a bit more awake...and not so exhausted...and not in so much pain. Stupid knee. I glared at it tiredly.  
  
"So. I asked you a question."  
  
I splashed my face with water again and turned the taps off. "So. I have this thing about talking to kids who don't say 'hi'. Bad manners and all that."  
  
I saw him frown in my peripheral vision. "You're talking to me now."  
  
"Aberration." I shrugged even as I patted my face dry with some paper towels. "I really don't want to talk to you, kid."  
  
"But I asked you a _question_."  
  
"And I said," I replied with mock-patience, "I didn't want to talk." After all, this was only one more lousy conversation in a day already filled with them, and by now, I was in no mood to co-operate. I leaned over and tossed the used towels into the bin without turning away from the mirror. All the better to not have to face my younger twin with the entirely-too-familiar eyes.  
  
"But—"  
  
"I'm not talking to you."  
  
"I said, I asked you a question."  
  
"And _I_ said, I'm not talking."  
  
"I asked first. Are you in charge of Bruce?"  
  
I suited words to action and watched my hands tighten their grip on the sink until my knuckles turned red, then white.  
  
"You are, aren't you?"  
  
I turned my gaze to my face in the mirror, wondering idly where Bruce had managed to find someone so...so _obnoxious_.  
  
"You're that Dick Grayson guy who Barb won't talk about, the guy who showed up this morning, right?"  
  
I dropped my gaze a little and watched the mold growing in a crack in the lower-right corner of the mirror. Maybe if I ignored him long enough, he'd _go away_.  
  
"I was there, I saw you," he virtually accused. "Which means, you also heard the doctors tell Barb about the stipulations in the will, didn't you?"  
  
The only good thing that I could see was that this kid actually gave me some credit for my hearing and my brains, and didn't totally discount me, as Barbara had. All the same, if the kid knew the answers, why was he still asking all these questions? I certainly wasn't going to answer them in a conversation I'd wanted no part of in the first place.  
  
" _And_ I saw you having that argument later, with the doctors over Bruce's life support."  
  
Funny. The mildew looked a little like a miniature flying bat, if you squinted and tilted your head a bit. Or maybe, I was the one with bats on the brain... Or was that rocks, for being here?  
  
"But you won it. And _that_ means, you've got to have his ring." Pause. "Don't you?"  
  
Finally, I could stand it no longer. I turned on the kid. Two quick steps got me into his personal space and up in his face. "What's it to you, brat?" I snarled, staring deep into the too-familiar eyes. Being that I was this close, I could at long last start to see some differences. My eyes were a simple blue; this kid's eyes had small flecks of green. Interesting to know, but not exactly what I was focusing on. The anger flared once again. "You're not even a part of his _family_." Because this close, I could also see the familial resemblance, and it wasn't to big-black-and-batty.  
  
Thank goodness for small favors.  
  
The kid swallowed, hard, but managed to hold his ground. Barely, but he managed. "A—And I suppose you are?" he threw back at me. "You. Weren't. Here."  
  
Oooh. So, the kid had guts. Not that he _used_ them, but he definitely had them. Because that wasn't the button to be pushing. Not today. Not here. Not after everything I'd had flung in my face. I clenched my hands into fists by my side so I wouldn't throw them at him. Because I really did have better self-control than that. A few moments later, I made my hands relax and shoved them into my pockets, where the tension wouldn't show - and felt one hand hit metal.  
  
The ring. Of course.  
  
That calmed me down as nothing else could.  
  
I backed off a few steps and _looked_ at him. That was all. I did nothing _but_ look at him - outwardly, at least. Inwardly, well, I knew exactly how to look without seeing. Denial, me? Not so much. I let a small smile hover around my mouth. "Persistent little snit, aren't you?" All this was a tactic designed both to divert attention and to upset him. I mentally made a bet with myself about how long it would take.  
  
It worked. The kid frowned and his hands moved to his hips as he tried to look more assertive. "I'm not little. And I have a _name_ , you know." The attitude on this kid. Couldn't be more obnoxious and arrogant if he tried. Which he was. Trying, that is.  
  
"So do I," I shot back, and kept on looking right at him - which I'd learned, over the years, could be more off-putting than it sounded. I couldn't imagine that this kid had been around Barbara, Bruce and Alfred for any length of time and _not_ heard about me, no matter what he said. I rather thought it'd be quite the opposite, judging by the kind of welcome mat that had been rolled out to me.  
  
Once again, the tactic worked. I snorted inwardly as the kid began to fidget and his stance quickly lost cohesion. I would've thought he'd have more tenacity than that. I know I would've, even from the very first moment I met Bruce. The things I saw in Juvie and on the streets saw to that, even if I hadn't been a bit stubborn already.  
  
This little punk of kid wouldn't last a Gotham minute on the rooftops if he couldn't even withstand someone _looking_ at him. He wasn't even worth my time. I wondered for a moment why Barbara had been bothering with him, and then decided it wasn't my problem. I stepped to the side. "The name's _Richard_ , kid. Only my friends call me Dick. Oh, and by the way," I gave him my best smirk as I drew level with him. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."  
  
It took all the control I had not to let the door slam behind me as I left.  
  
Now for Bruce. Lovely. _Bruce_. As if this day could get any worse.  
  
The trouble was, Bruce's room was in the long-term care ward. And the solarium I'd found refuge in after the argument with Bruce's doctors was...well, not exactly close. Down three floors and through a few corridors. Right now, it felt like I was standing on the other side of the hospital from where I wanted to be. But it was closer than going down to my car, and I _had_ kind of promised Barbara I'd be there as soon as I could. Somehow, I didn't think she'd take a detour via my car for the cane as "being there ASAP".  
  
So I made the trek to Bruce's room...thinking longingly of the chair at the end. At this point, even hospital chairs would be a blessing.  
  
It didn't exactly surprise me that Bruce was the only occupant of his room by the time I got there, thanks to my little delay in the men's room. Barbara was never one for waiting, especially if _I_ was the one she was supposed to be waiting for. Me, I was just glad no one was there to see the way I semi-sorta collapsed into the chair next to the bed.  
  
My knee was killing me.  
  
Okay, bad turn of phrase, but still. I was more than happy to be off my feet. Maybe resting the leg for a while would ease the shooting pain I'd been having every time I put weight on the knee or tried to bend it. I knew I shouldn't have done so much walking around today, especially without the cane -- which was _still_ in the car. Eight floors below and across the street.  
  
Damn it.  
  
Make that, I shouldn't have done so much walking _tonight_. Somehow, with everything that had happened, I'd lost track of the hours and it was now night. 2115 hours, going by the clock on the wall and the darkness I could see through the windows. Fancy that. It had been _years_ since I'd lost track of time like that. Usually, I could give people the proper time without looking at my watch. That, I mainly wore for show. More to the point, I usually knew _exactly_ when night fell wherever I was at the time.  
  
Force of habit. And the damned Bat training.  
  
Some things, you just couldn't unlearn.  
  
Speaking of Bats... I glared moodily at said Bat on the bed. There were a number of things I wanted to talk to him about, now that I had the uninterrupted time and the monopoly of his attention. Chief among those things being That Night and a certain ring in my pocket. But what was the point if he couldn't answer me back? Sure, I could talk to him all I liked, but I doubted it'd do me much good until they took the ventilator out - or until he woke up.  
  
Actually, come to think of it, talking to him right now would probably have about the same effect as it did when I was younger.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Nada.  
  
Zip.  
  
_Sigh_. What was I even doing here?  
  
Alfred. Right. Of course. The man should give lessons in deviousness... Or maybe not. Wouldn't want to give the Joker ideas, now. Still, while I was on the topic of lessons, Alfred could definitely give a few in manners. That would definitely help. Imagine: the Joker asking 'Please' before he escaped Arkham. Oh, that would be nice, to actually have advance warning for once...  
  
Okay, I was definitely tired if I was thinking about Alfred giving the Joker etiquette lessons. Although, I was pretty sure it'd be the Joker who'd cry "uncle" first...  
  
Yep. Definitely too tired.  
  
Still. It was such a relief to be alone. Finally.  
  
Tall-Dark- and-Unconscious might have been occupying the bed, but I was the only one in the room awake and aware. That counted as alone in my book. There was no one around to hassle me with questions about things I didn't want to talk about, no living reminders of a past life I'd left behind me years ago, no threatening social interactions. Just me, Bruce (who didn't count), and the life support machines.  
  
_Bliss_.  
  
After a moment, I pushed the chair I was in further back into the shadows near the corner adjacent to the door, and settled in for the night - or however long Barbara was willing to let me stew here. I didn't think she'd really leave me all night, not as tetchy as she'd seemed about all-things-Bruce, but I was willing to bet on a few hours of peace. Or, equally, a peace that would last long enough for Oracle to do a bit of deep research into my background. I didn't bother warning Roy what was coming, because it was already too late for warnings; we'd both known what Barbara's reaction would be to my reappearance. Only the morning would reveal if the plans we'd made had been enough.  
  
In the meantime, there was nothing I could do but wait.  
  
And sleep.  
  
Yeah, sleep would be nice.  
  
So nice . . .  
  
. . . .  
  
I woke from my doze with a start when I heard a slight ' _thump_ '. It was a very small thump, to be sure, but to my trained ears, it might as well have been as loud as breaking glass.  
  
...Glass.  
  
The window.  
  
Someone was at _the window_.  
  
Bruce's window. _Batman's_ window.  
  
Carefully, quietly, I drew back into the shadows, once again mentally cursing the fact that my cane was eight floors down and across the street. I couldn't stand, I couldn't move quickly, and I had no way to easily defend myself.  
  
And this was definitely a problem, because I was no longer alone in the room.  
  



	13. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick + intruder + Bruce + surprise = Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter only, there is brief mention of a romantic inclination/conversation between het characters. But its kinda tangential to the main plot(s), so I didn't really consider warning about it prior to this. Still, if you have problems about that sorta thing, feel free to skip. It won't come up again.

I hardly dared to breathe as I waited in the darkness.  
  
This being Gotham, I could be facing anything. _Anything_. Although how they could have found out that this was _Batman's_ room... Obviously, I needed to have a firm discussion with Barbara - if we could manage it without fighting.  
  
Although, to be fair, there were a very limited few who would dare the window access trick. At least, the last time I'd been here, there had been. And none of those few I remembered were ones I particularly wanted to see, let alone talk to.  
  
I swallowed hard as I saw a shadow ease inside the room and shut the window behind it. It was, literally, a piece of shadow that was darker than the dark it was trying to hide in, if that made any sense. To my night-trained eyes, it did. I watched in silence from my own patch of night as the dark one finished fiddling with the window, turned in my direction...and froze.  
  


It was like one of those old-fashioned Western stand-offs, each of us trying to out-wait the other...but with a twist. We were both waiting for the other to come out of hiding. Whoever twitched first, well...at least we were already in a hospital. Because the shooting - or the current equivalent thereof - was probably going to come later.

  
Still. I couldn't deny the bat-training in me, especially when I was sitting next to the damn man. I was _not_ about to blink first.  
  
I waited.  
  
Patiently.  
  
I could out-stubborn anyone.  
  
Even Bruce.  
  
I could certainly out-stubborn this intruder.  
  
Finally, the shadow spoke: "You might as well come out, you know. I saw you long before I entered."  
  
 _Damn._ I thought I'd concealed myself better. On the other hand, I'd had no idea I needed to be hiding from _the windows_ , so I supposed the lapse was forgivable.  
  
The voice I'd heard was female and throaty. It practically purred it's words. When I added that voice to the window trick, the identification was as obvious as it was simple: Catwoman, aka Selina Kyle. Bruce's former flame. I had no idea where she now stood in his life. More to the point, I had no idea where _I_ stood in her estimations - that is, how much Batman had poisoned her opinion of me.  
  
On the other hand, never let it be said I'd backed down from a gauntlet once it had been laid before me.  
  
I stood carefully and, keeping a tight grip on the chair, moved out of the shadows. There was, after all, only one way to find out where I stood with Catwoman. _Always through it, Grayson. No way out but through._ I gave the lady my best neutral look but remained silent. It would be...interesting (if that was the word for it) to see how long it took for her to guess my identity...and how she would react when she finally did. I no longer held out any hope of a warm welcome from anyone.  
  
She, in turn, watched me steadily for a long while. The unblinking gaze of a cat with its prey in sight. "So... You're his new watcher, are you?" she said finally, a hint of curiosity thrumming under the calm tones.  
  
 _Well, duh? Isn't that kinda obvious?_ Instead of speaking my thoughts out loud, and risk alienating her further, I simply nodded and stayed where I was. Not only did it mean I could (hopefully) be unobtrusive about using the chair for support - I hadn't been kidding about wanting that cane, no matter how weak it might make me appear - but it would also keep me closer to Bruce, in case she tried something.  
  
And wasn't that a kick in the pants? _Me_ , protecting Bruce. I think I needed a stiff drink...or something.  
  
Selina glided forward just enough so that I could see her a little more clearly, and tilted her head to the side in graceful contemplation. The shades of purple leather hugging her curves confirmed my identification, not that I'd needed it. "Did you get approval from Lady Barbara to be here?" she prodded, smiling devilishly.  
  
The question seemed innocent, but the way she talked about Barbara was almost mocking. It didn't look as if there was much love lost between them. Definitely something to consider and investigate. And since there was no time like the present... I matched her head tilt and finally spoke. "What would you do if I said no?"  
  
"Oooh, he speaks!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together delightedly. Despite the extravagance of the gesture, the sound was just subtle enough to reach my ears, and traveled no further than this room. It confirmed my suspicions that whatever side she played on, she was as experienced as ever at the night-life - if not more so than when I'd left. Her devilish smile returned quickly. "Why? Do you want me to tell her you're here?"  
  
"Hardly." She already knew, so it was kinda a moot point. Not that Catwoman needed to know that.  
  
"Oh. So it's a conspiracy then!"  
  
I snorted. Probably. A conspiracy aimed at yours truly to get me to do...something. I wasn't quite sure what that something was. Yet. But I was going to find out.  
  
... _After_ I'd had some sleep.  
  
Because for all my intentions to investigate her relationships with Barbara and Bruce, I abruptly realized I didn't have the energy (or patience) right now to try it. An expansive yawn kind of caught me by surprise. The events of the last few days had caught up with me, and all of a sudden I didn't want to do anything more than collapse where I was. I was so exhausted, I could barely keep my eyes open.  
  
Selina's smile lost a calculating edge I hadn't even been noticed. In fact, her entire face softened. "How long since you last slept, then? I mean _really_ slept."  
  
"Sleep?" I blinked, and had to think, which really was asking too much at my present level of exhaustion.  
  
"Honey, it's been too long if you don't remember."  
  
I took a stab at it anyway. "Um...three days? Maybe four?" Probably more? Was it sad that I wasn't sure?  
  
She snorted. "That is definitely too long. Even for _him_. I'm surprised that you're even functional." She smiled that softer smile again. "Tell you what, kit. You grab some 'z's on that chair there, and I'll keep watch for you." She then flashed a quick smirk at me. "I'll even warn you if Lady Barbara decides to show her face. How's that?"  
  
I shook my head as my eternal stubbornness raised its head once again. "I can't." I gestured vaguely towards the bed. "I...I need to..."  
  
"I'll keep watch over him for you. And I'll wake you up if anything happens."  
  
I hesitated, still reluctant. It wasn't anything to do with Selina. And it wasn't that I didn't need the sleep - I did. But there was Bruce to consider, and Barbara, the kid...Alfred...Roy... It was all a jumble in my head, and I ached just to think about it. Yet even as I struggled with my options, another wave of fatigue washed over me, and it was suddenly all I could do to stay on my feet.  
  
I swear I only blinked, and suddenly Selina had crossed the room and was holding me up. "That's it," she said firmly, as no-nonsense as I've ever heard her. "You're sitting in that chair and getting some sleep right _now_ , even if I have to stand over you to get you to do it."  
  
I just nodded. Because she was right. I _had_ been too long without true sleep. And besides, as fatigued as I was, I could still read her body language enough to see the genuineness of her offer. Even without really knowing who I was - or maybe, I was cynical enough to note, it was _because_ she didn't know who I was - she was willing to watch my back while I slept. In this town, that was a _big_ thing.  
  
That was the main reason why I allowed her to help me back into the chair. My bad leg was throbbing worse than before, making me limp a little. Okay, a lot. I ignored it, and lowered myself down. The only concession I made was propping both legs up on the bed - and I was thankful that I was still close enough to the bed to do that.  
  
A quick glance around the room revealed nothing untoward. Selina had withdrawn into the shadows once more and Bruce was...still unconscious. It was safe to relax.  
  
It didn't take long for sleep to swallow me.  
  
. . .  
  
I awoke with a start a few hours later to find wide brownish-hazel eyes staring into mine and a hand near my face. I jerked back, discomforted to find someone so close to me. _This_ was why I never slept with someone else in the room if I could help it. I _hated_ letting down my guard like that.  
  
Finally, the eyes and the hand moved far enough away enough for me to recognize the face that went with them.  
  
Selina.  
  
Still feeling the effects of the adrenaline spike, I let loose a soft curse in Rom and glared, the kind of glare that can be felt through anything. "Did you really have to wake me up that way?"  
  
She nodded, a smile fluttering at the sides of her mouth. "You didn't wake at any other...stimuli. And I wanted to know why a handsome man like you is wearing sunglasses at night. I bet you have killer eyes." A small shrug and her hands retreated even further. "And besides, I thought you'd appreciate knowing that Lady Barbara's van just pulled in to the parking lot."  
  
Oh.  
  
I nodded and let my face soften. "Thanks. For letting me know about Barbara." Instinctively, I glanced out the window, even though I knew I couldn't see the parking lot from where I sat. What I did see was the still dark of midnight, and that surprised me. I'd slept for...hours. Three and a half hours, by my calculations. Yet I still felt exhausted. The small nap had been enough, for now, but I knew myself enough to know that I had to get some serious sleep-time in, and soon.  
  
Selina smiled at me again and withdrew once more to the other side of the room. Near the windows. That was when I realized her intent.  
  
She was preparing to leave.  
  
It was also then that I realized that I wanted her stay...and not just because she'd been genuinely kind to me. Okay, so maybe that was a part of it; a big part. But she was probably a part of Bruce's life as well...and well...I guessed I owed something to her. For letting me sleep. To _him_ , too...for making her a part of his life enough to bring her here now. And—  
  
An expansive yawn cut my thoughts short.  
  
Selina glanced my way again. "LB's making her way inside. Will you be alright with her?"  
  
"LB?"  
  
"Lady Barbara," she explained, as her eyes lighting up in mocking laughter and her fingers danced above the window latch.  
  
Ah. I thought furiously, trying hard to throw off the shackles of exhaustion long enough to concoct a decent plan. I had no desire to be alone with Barbara when I was holding on with this level of tiredness.  
  
I looked back at Selina, the glimmerings of an idea percolating at the back of my mind. "Wouldn't you like to have decent time with him?" I jerked my head at the bed. "Instead of sneaking in at night."  
  
She nodded, but then shrugged as a faint sadness settled over her features. "LB doesn't like me. I get what I can."  
  
I grinned at her. I might actually be going to enjoy this. "LB doesn't have final say anymore. I do. Let me handle this."  
  
Her eyebrows rose, and she leaned forward. "How'd you manage that? I've been trying to get LB to get the doctor's to recognize me as Bruce's next of kin for weeks."  
  
My own eyebrows shot up at that, and rose even higher again when I belatedly realized I could _see_ her eyebrows rise. It was also about that time that I realized what she was wearing. Her cowl was gone...and so was her costume. She was wearing jeans, a plain top, and a jean jacket. Darn, I definitely needed sleep if I couldn't even see a change in clothes...or hear a woman moving about in a room enough to change right next to me.  
  
I said nothing about the change of clothes. I didn't even ask her where she could have obtained them when she'd been supposedly watching over me. Instead, I pursued the other angle she'd brought up. "Next of kin?"  
  
She blushed. Selina actually blushed. "Bruce... He, um, asked me. The question."  
  
" _The_ question?"  
  
She nodded faintly, smiling wistfully, but with a hint of sorrow behind the obvious happiness in her eyes. "But me being me, I told him I needed time to consider my decision. I waited a day and told him I wanted a proper ring before I'd give him a 'yes'. He had to do it right, like a gentleman of his class should. A rush job at night wasn't a real proposal. Not in his case."  
  
I nodded faintly, my head buzzing at the news. Selina...obviously _knew_. About Batman and Bruce. It made me wonder what else she knew -- even if it wasn't something I could bring up in a conversation like this. "Did you...tell anyone?"  
  
She shook her head. The tips of her ears were still a faint rosy color. She smiled the small smile of a woman with a secret love. "It was so _hard_ , keeping it quiet, but we wanted it that way, to avoid the media circus...and the attention from Gotham's rogue gallery." She sighed. "That's why we didn't tell anyone, except for Alfred of course. Bruce was going out to buy the ring when..." she gestured toward the bed wordlessly.  
  
I frowned. "Wait a minute. He asked you without a ring?"  
  
She blushed again. "It was...at night. Thing's happened...and he asked."  
  
Ah. I knew how 'things' could happen at night. "I see."  
  
Selina looked at me for a long moment. "You actually... _understand_..."  
  
I just nodded and said nothing. If anything, I understood entirely too well how one night could change everything.  
  
"If it helps," she offered, crossing the room and extending her hand, "I do have this..."  
  
I looked at her hand, and was somewhat astonished to see what looked like a braided leather band around her ring-finger. I looked up at her. "Is this...?"  
  
She nodded, her eyes dancing. Her entire face looked radiant. "Yes. It's, well...I guess you could say, a promise ring." She touched it gently, and gave a long look at the man in the bed. You'd have to be blind to miss the love in that gaze. "He made it then and there, on that roof, from a part of my whip. It's a part of all of us now."  
  
Despite myself, I burst out laughing. It sounded like something Bruce'd do...the _old_ Bruce. The Bruce who'd taken me in. _Not_ the Bruce who'd kicked me out. She must've been a good influence on him after all.  
  
It was precisely that moment that Barbara chose to come into the room. "What's going on here?!"  
  
My laughter died a short death.  
  
Selina withdrew her hand and gracefully stepped away. Closer to Bruce.  
  
Barbara looked sharply at both of us. "Well?" Her glare landed on Selina. " _You_ shouldn't even _be_ here." She turned away, as if dismissing her from her sight -- and maybe she had. And then she turned to me. "And _you_. Just what do you think you're doing?"  
  
I blinked. Twice. "Uh...watching Bruce."  
  
If anything, the glare doubled. And then she was off and running. Well, her mouth was. She was showing an impressive ability to force out words for extended periods without the need to pause to breathe.  
  
Obviously, somebody was going to have to smooth some troubled waters. And judging by the way Selina was trying to inch closer to the window whenever Barbara paused for air, it was going to have to be me.  
  
Joy.  
  
I sighed and stood up, cautiously testing my leg. It held, thankfully. I had no desire to be dumped on my butt in front of both woman.  Then I stretched gingerly, working out the kinks in my muscles. A full day's travel to get here, plus the stress of meeting everyone, add to all that a few hours in the hospital chair, and the sum result hadn't exactly been kind to my body.  
  
I turned to face Barbara, who by now had wheeled herself fully into the room, her emerald eyes sparking in righteous indignation. I waited until she'd paused, and interjected, "Hey, Barbara." I smiled, because I knew it would annoy her. "We were just...talking about the past."  
  
Barbara's eyes sparked again. Her jaw tensed. And although she didn't say anything immediately, she gave me enough of a glare that I knew I'd be getting an earful from her later, when she was alone with me. That was more than enough reason for me to want to avoid it. "Really," was all she finally said, in a flat tone of voice that spoke volumes.  
  
I just rolled my eyes. "Yes, really."  
  
Barbara's lips thinned. "It's my turn to watch Bruce," she announced, apropos of nothing. Then she got to the kicker: "So I think you should _both_ leave."  
  
Selina bristled. "I beg your pardon? I have just as much a right to be here as you do!"  
  
"You mean because you're a female?" Barbara sneered. "Give me a break. He barely even looks at you."  
  
"And he doesn't even _see_ you! You're only a voice in the earpiece!"  
  
"Gold-digger!"  
  
"Ninja-wannabe!"  
  
And it just got worse from there. Can anyone say 'cat-fight'? At least they were restraining themselves from getting physical. Small mercies. I had no idea how long that would last...and I had no desire to find out.  
  
I stuck two fingers in my mouth and let loose a short, piercing whistle. (And prayed that it wouldn't bring the wrath of the nurses down on me - if these two hadn't done it already.)  
  
It worked, in any case. They stopped. And both promptly started glaring at me. Lovely.  
  
"Ladies, please." And I used that term loosely, after what I'd just seen and heard. "There's no need for that," I said as firmly as I could. "Not here. If you must fight, do it outside." Preferably far away from me. Far, far away.  
  
Barbara stared at me incredulously. "Outside? You mean in the _rain_?"  
  
I smiled sweetly. "I was actually thinking more like the hallway." So at least one of them could be kicked out for the night, whatever was left of it. "But you can do it in the rain if you prefer."  
  
She snorted in obvious disgust. "I bet you'd just _love_ to see us outside. In the rain. Screaming."  
  
I rolled my eyes, because what I really wanted to do was grit my teeth or scream or... No. Not tonight. I'd embarrassed myself enough for one day. "No, I wouldn't. Because while you two do your thing, I'm staying right here in this room and watching over hi--Bruce." See? I even managed to say the name without screaming aloud. Go me.  
  
She crossed her arms defiantly and sneered, "You'd still look at us through the windows, though. I'd bet my last dollar on it."  
  
I tilted my head to the side and looked at her wearily. "Are you always this obnoxious, or is it just me?"  
  
Selina chose this priceless moment to join in. "It's not you."  
  
"Great." Sarcasm, gotta love it. "And for the record, Barbara," I added, "I can't see anything worthwhile through those windows." Not anymore, not with my eyesight. Damned injuries. There was a _reason_ I'd never taken off my sunglasses, even at night. "Now why don't you two go have your argument elsewhere, and leave me alone with him?"  
  
Barbara shook her head. "No way. You've had your turn. It's my turn now."  
  
"No." I shook my head. I'd had enough, and it was about time _someone_ stood up to her. I let my voice drift towards the icy command tones that the strictest teachers often used to quell students. "I _said_ that I'm going to be watching over him for the rest of the night." Or however long I could manage to keep my eyes open, whatever came first. I let none of that show in my voice, though, and continued to stare her down. "Are we clear?"  
  
Her lips compressed into a thin line as she nodded reluctantly. "We're clear."  
  
Hurray. Score one more victory point for me. Just to be sure, I maintained the glare level. "And you will _not_ be in the room with me while I do so."  
  
Tossing her head a little as her eyes glinted a little under the hospital lighting, she asked, "And what about her?"  
  
Barely suppressing the urge to roll my eyes -- again -- I turned to Selina and managed a halfway-decent smile. "Well? Do you have any problems waiting...outside the room?" I asked, inclining my head towards the hallway slightly. As in not outside-outside.  
  
Selina considered for a moment. Then she gave me a long look. "Not as long as you can stay awake watching him," she said finally. "Or as long as someone is still here to relieve you when you are done."  
  
"Oh, I can stay awake." I fully intended on relieving the hospital of some of their supplies of caffeine. Chocolate or coffee, whatever was closest and most easily available, would do me fine. And since I had Catwoman on hand, I knew just who to send on the errand. Not that I was going to tell Barbara that. I knew which battles to pick.  
  
And speaking of battles...  
  
"I'll relieve you."  
  
"I will!"  
  
"You watched him last time. And everytime before that! It _has_ to be my turn now."  
  
"Is not."  
  
"Is."  
  
"Not."  
  
And it just degenerated from there. Sheesh. Even Barbara and I weren't this bad.  
  
Were we?  
  
I treated them to another dose of my whistle, slightly lower in tone but just as shrill -- and yes, I've had plenty of practice to get this level of control over it. And it worked, once again. They shut up. Which was really all I was aiming for.  
  
"That's enough." I told them, as firmly as I could. "I've had just about enough of you two trying to take each other's heads off. I have no desire to play referee every time you two see each other either." I took a deep breath to prepare myself. What I was about to suggest wasn't going to down well, but it made sense to me. After all, I couldn't exactly watch over Bruce twenty-four-seven, and I needed to sleep _some_ time. "More to the point, it's obvious," at least it was to me, I didn't care what some folks thought about my intelligence, "that both of you care about Bruce and want to stay with him. Fine. You can, starting now."  
  
I ignored the protest from Barbara and continued doggedly on. "We'll take turns from now on. I want the two of you to find a way to work together long enough to come up with a schedule. Divide up the day among the three of us, and include Alfred when and if he can spare the time." I gave them both a long look. "I'm sure you and Barbara can manage to bury whatever axe you're carrying for each other long enough to work out a _fair_ roster for everyone, while I'm watching over Bruce until tomorrow morning." I gave Barbara a hard look. "I mean it, Barbara. _Everyone_." After all, if I was going to force both of them to play nice, I'd better make the same overture myself.  
  
The stubborn woman crossed her arms and looked defiant. "Yeah, right. As if you'll be around long enough to take your turn," she muttered, obviously not intending for me to hear her.  
  
I replied anyway, a bit testily, I'll admit. "I'm here, aren't I?" I said. "I don't exactly have anywhere else to be right now, Barbara." Heck, I didn't have anywhere else to be period. I blamed the sudden desire to throw something at her on my exhaustion. I was so far beyond tired, I was running on less than fumes. Some coffee would be _so nice_ right now. "Just come up with something between you two that includes at least the three of us, and I'll sign off on it if I agree."  
  
Surprisingly - or maybe not so much, considering Barbara's mood right now - it was Selina who played peacemaker. "We'll come up with something. And your young one can join whoever's on guard duty whenever he's free." She looked pleased. Probably at the opportunity to get something up on Barbara and me at once. Or at the prospect of finally having some free time with Bruce, even if he was doing his best imitation of a vegetable right now. With her catlike nature, it was hard to tell which it was.  
  
Me, I just stifled the urge to say that that the brat wasn't 'my young one', and never would be if I had anything to say about it. I'd toss him off a cliff first. "Sounds good enough," I agreed anyway. "And now, if you two'll excuse me, I have a chair calling me somewhere."  
  
Selina inclined her head gracefully and made her way to the doorway.  
  
Barbara, however, stayed behind, looking as obstinate as ever.  
  
I raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, but mentally sighed to myself. _Confrontation number five or six for tonight, here we come._  
  
As I'd been expecting, she sighed the sigh of the put-upon and rolled closer. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" she asked stiffly, as if the words cost her a lot to say.  
  
I nodded, trying not to show how wary I felt.  
  
She rolled even closer, and I (finally) sat back down in my chair by Bruce's bedside. _Ah, bliss. That's a weight off my feet._ It took all my control to keep the relief from showing on my face, especially when I was this close to Barbara. Her eyes missed nothing. Sitting down, I was on her level, and yet she still beckoned me closer. So I complied. We ended up with our heads bent next to each other almost like we were discussing state secrets. Really, it was almost laughable the way she was acting.  
  
"What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_?" she finally demanded in a low whisper that still managed to convey worlds of ferocity. "You _know_ we can't trust her."  
  
I did? Obviously, I was missing something important here - or something important to Barbara, anyway. That, or I'd just managed to insert myself into the middle of an on-going cat-fight. _Joy_. Just my luck. I furrowed my brow. "Exactly what is your problem?" I retorted, with just as much fierceness. After all, two could play this game - or maybe it was three? And what on earth was this 'we' business anyway? Last I'd heard, it was 'her' and 'me'.  
  
"You don't _know_ her," she hissed as her eyes darted meaningfully at the woman at the doorway pretending not to listen and then returned to glare at me.  
  
I pointedly ignored Selina and glared right back. "And you don't know _me_.  Live with it, Barbara. This conversation is over."  
  
I deliberately turned the chair away and presented my back to both women before anyone could say anything more. And yeah, it felt _good_ to have the last word for a change.  
  



	14. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kid. Dick. And a futon.

The rest of the night - what was left of it - passed in something of a haze.  
  
I knew that I was alone, finally, and I knew that Bruce didn't move. At all. Much else...I couldn't tell you. I really _was_ too tired to be doing this, but it was either me or the two screaming banshees. Yeah. Right. Not much of a choice at all.  
  
At least not until they sorted out whatever was festering between them.  
  
Hence the schedule idea.  
  
The only change that happened was that a nurse came in at one point to check on Bruce. And adjust his blankets. Even asleep, and bruised to the hilt, he's apparently still a heart-breaker - because the nurse seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time fussing over him. But then it'd been ages since I've spent time in hospital beds, so what would I know?  
  
And then she noticed me sitting in my chair and struggling to stay awake. So she gave me a blanket and a cup of coffee from somewhere down the hall. I certainly wasn't complaining. The coffee was strong and the blanket _itched_. Both would serve to keep me warm and reasonably awake; in other words, they were exactly what I needed.  
  
Which is probably why I saw the sunrise. Again. How long had I been awake now? How many sunrises did this make? Too many...on both counts.  
  
In any case, I was still awake, though somewhat less aware, when I was relieved an hour later. By Selina. Who wasn't looking very happy. At least she came through the door, not the window, and she wasn't "in costume".  
  
I raised an eyebrow in a silent question.  
  
She shook her head and pressed her lips together. Obviously, it was still 'no go' on the schedule.  
  
I just shrugged mentally. I hadn't expected those two to sort out their problems _that_ quickly - although it would've been nice. Instead, I focused on getting myself upright. Considering how exhausted I was, and considering that my level of coordination had gone down in sympathy with my awareness, I'd never would have gotten out of that chair without Selina's help.  
  
Hospital chairs. Further proof that designers don't need to think about comfort to conform to a standard shape.  
  
When we were done, Selina grinned at me, muttered something about exhaustion and cats - at least I think she did; I wasn't really listening - and sent me on my way.  
  
So, I went.  
  
I made it through the doorway and down the hallway, but barely managed to turn the corner after the nursing station before I collapsed. Well, not so much as 'collapsed', as 'had a sudden need to lean against a wall before I fell down in a heap'.  
  
 _Tired... Need sleep..._  
  
It was to be expected, I supposed. I'd already had a full day and night back home before Alfred had dropped his little bombshell on me. Then there'd been the whirlwind of packing and arranging for leave, the long flight, and then another full day and night over here... Hell, it was no wonder that my body was ready to collapse. I was kinda surprised that it hadn't crashed earlier.  
  
As it was, it was all I could do to drag my aching self to the patients' lounge. That was where a kind nurse had promised me that there was a futon and a couch, from which I could take my pick—  
  
 _Damn._  
  
Well. Apparently, I wasn't the only one exhausted. Nor was I the only one with design on the futon. It was already occupied - by the little brat from before, no less. Typical. Somehow it didn't surprise me that a member of the new BatClan had taken yet another thing from me.  
  
Cynical? Me? Nah, what tipped you off first?  
  
When I was so exhausted that I was pretty much falling asleep on my feet, yeah.  
  
I stared numbly at the futon for a while, waiting patiently for my brain to fully process the scene. Kid. Tousled black hair. Shadows under the eyes. Pale skin. Rumpled clothing. Curled up in a ball. Almost like the kid was cold or— Damn. What was I thinking? No sympathy. The kid was a brat, I reminded myself pointedly. Brat. B.R.A.T. Maybe if I spelled it out, pounded it into my head often enough, it might sink in. Brat. Punk kid. Not a sweet, darling teen to befriend. Not an angel...  
  
 _Definitely_ not an angel. He was in _my_ futon.  
  
Which meant that I was sleeping on the couch. Again. How many times had that happened over the years? Ugh. Too many to count. And invariably when I was too exhausted to make a fuss about it. Not to mention too late in the night to bother. _No, make that morning...ow, sunlight. Definitely morning. No, don't look at the watch, Grayson, that'll just make it hurt even more._  
  
Bed. Need bed. Sleep. Where's the bed?  
  
 _Oh. Not bed. Couch. Right. Need to look. Where... Over there?_  
  
Opposite side of the room. Joy.  
  
Okay, if I was talking to myself like that, it was definitely time for bed. Turning away from the futon, I made my way over to the linen cabinet and pulled down some bedding things.  
  
Damn. Of course everything had to be on the topmost shelf...  
  
 _I wonder if I can even reach that high..._ Huh. Guess I could...  
  
Opps.  
  
Double damn. Why did everything have to fall down on me?  
  
 _So sort though it, Grayson._ Right. I was doing that. Wasn't I?  
  
Pillow. Another pillow. Blanket.  
  
 _There. That should be enough._ Shouldn't it?  
  
Hmm... What to do with the rest?  
  
 _All that, back in the cupboard..._ Drat. I have to reach up again, don't I?  
  
 _What the heck. Just stuff the rest up there and let someone else sort it out._  
  
Whew, the door shut. Wasn't sure it would for a moment there.  
  
At least that explained why the brat didn't have any - they'd been too high up in the cabinet for him to reach. Unless he could fly...which he apparently couldn't. Or had Pla's stretchability - if that was even a word? Not that Bruce had ever liked metas. Couldn't see him changing _that_ much.  
  
Still, it was one less thing in the brat's favor, when it came to nightly survival. Gotham nights had always been brutal, and I couldn't imagine them having gotten any better in the years since I'd... Since I'd been away.  
  
Poor kid probably hadn't known what he was getting himself into...  
  
Oh-kay, I was thinking about that kid entirely too much than was safe for my mental health.  
  
 _Brain bleach. Need...clean brain._  
  
No. Sleep. Need sleep. Couch. Sleep on couch.  
  
 _Couch. Needs pillows._  
  
Have pillows.  
  
 _Pillows on couch, then._  
  
I stared at the distance between me and the couch for a long moment. It looked awfully wide, but that was probably the late hour talking - or was that the early morning hour? _No,_ I told myself sternly, _don't look at the watch!_ Anyway. It was huge. Like football stadium kind of wide. Crossing that with two pillows and a blanket? _So_ not happening.  
  
One of them had to go.  
  
Pillows, or blanket?  
  
Blanket, or pillows?  
  
Decisions, decisions.  
  
I stared at the couch, and then looked down at the pillows. The couch looked lumpy even from here. There was _no way_ I was giving up my pillows.  
  
Or my blanket. It was cold, darnnit. I wanted some sleep tonight. This morning.  _Whatever._  
  
Couch. Lumpy. Pillows. Need...  
  
I stared at it a moment longer. Then I looked down to my pillows. Fluffy pillows. Fluffy, rectangular pillows. Fluffy, rectangular pillows...that shouldn't bounce much if I threw them. Compared to a blanket...that, well, would hit like a wet blanket. Pun intended.  
  
And a solution had just presented itself.  
  
I tossed the pillows. They landed on the couch, bounced once, and promptly fell off. Ah well. At least they'd hit where I'd aimed.  
  
Scowling heavily at the objects in question, I shuffled over, the blanket tucked securely under one arm. Well, more like limped over, actually. Darned old battle injury. I'd obviously done too much today...tonight...whatever. I'd done too much. And I was seriously going to pay for it come the morning. Wait. It already _was_ morning. Whenever I woke up, then.  
  
Whatever. Just...   
  
_Couch. Pillows. Sleep._  
  
Right.  
  
Leaning heavily on the arm of the couch, I reached over, retrieved the pillows, and put them back where they belonged. Then, lowering myself down with the care of the extremely tired, I lay down and gingerly swung my aching leg up on to the couch. Didn't even bother removing my boots or anything - that would've been too much like work. Covering myself with the blanket was about the extent of my preparations for the night. Morning. Whatever.  
  
Then, there was only darkness...  
  
...  
  
...  
  
...I woke with a start, adrenaline pumping through my veins, knowing only that it was a few scant hours after I'd fallen asleep and that something had _happened_ that had awakened me...that something was _wrong_ with my surroundings.  
  
I squinted. _Sunlight. Too much light._ Instant headache material.  
  
But there was also something else...  
  
My defensive instincts were roaring, urging me to slip into battle-mode. Something was _wrong_. I was wide awake now, and I knew I wouldn't fall back asleep until I'd sorted out and dealt with the situation.  
  
With those thoughts flying through my head, I rolled off the couch, dragging the blanket with me. Had a moment's terror when it seemed my leg wouldn't support me, but it finally held. Temperamental injury. Figured it would pick _now_ to act up. I ignored it and the pain and forced myself to hold still, to stand up and let go of the couch, to listen out for what had disturbed me.  
  
 _Wait for it. Wait for it..._ Ah.  
  
I felt myself relax a little, although the tension never quite left my shoulders. The kid was having a nightmare, and it was his cries that had woken me. Guess he _had_ already found out the hard way exactly how brutal Gotham could be on the innocent. If he was innocent anymore. Somehow, I kinda doubted it. The nightmare  was already bad enough that I could tell he'd been doing this for a while...and that I wouldn't be getting any more sleep until it ended.  
  
 _Damn, but I'm a soft touch for a kid in need. Even if it is "The Brat"._  
  
Sighing heavily to myself, I hitched the blanket up onto my shoulders and limped over. And if I had to hold onto every available piece of furniture on the way over for support? Well, let's just say I chose to ignore that.  
  
Finally, I was there. And my poor knee was only screaming at my brain for the abuse. When this was all over, I was definitely looking into an Ace bandage for it; or a painkiller. Whichever came first. Preferably both.  
  
I stared down at the kid from my place near his shoulder, wondering how best to go about the business of waking the brat up. Physical touch was usually most expedient way to break someone out a nightmare... but with someone as highly trained as Bat people usually are, that method was also a sure-fire way to get clocked.  
  
There was always voice, but I had serious doubts that I could reach the kid. That kind of thing usually required levels of trust between dreamer and speaker that just didn't exist right now, and weren't likely to exist until Hal Jordan started prancing around in yellow. Actually, all it would take was knowing the kid's _name_ , but I hadn't thought to ask earlier. _A little late now, eh Grayson?_  
  
So that left touch, then the voice.  
  
I lowered my voice to something approximating soothing. "Hey, kid. C'mon. Wake up." Bracing myself, I warily touched the kid's shoulder. _Oh man, this is going to hurt._  
  
And, just as I'd expected, the kid jerked awake, and came up at me with a mean right hook.  
  
I didn't dodge it. Not exactly. Kinda caught it on the edge of my jaw - which was better than on the temple, where the kid had been aiming. I was still going to have one heck of a bruise there. _That'll teach you not to dodge quick enough._ I let go of the blanket enough to rub my jaw ruefully and gingerly backed up a step. "You awake now, kid?"  
  
He jerked back and stared up at me blearily. "Wha— Uh, yeah... I think so."  
  
Nothing like a little bit of uncertainty in the middle of the night...make that early morning. I smiled as pleasantly as I could and stayed where I was. Judging by long experience with bad dreams, the kid was bound to be a bit...twitchy for a little while longer. "You wanna talk about it?"  
  
The stare instantly turned cautious. Definitely one sharp kid. "About what?"  
  
I barely refrained from rolling my eyes, but made sure to keep the pleasant expression in place. Years of all the wrong kind of experience in dealing with troubled kids, that was my problem. Never could turn one away. "Whatever it was you were dreaming about."  
  
The mask slammed down with the rapidity of a shutter in Tornado Alley. "No."  
  
I shrugged. "Fair enough." I tilted my head to the side slightly. "Do you mind if I sit down then?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
I took it as a 'yes' and sat down anyway. Which I would have done, even if he'd said no. I couldn't have stood much longer. Damned knee. I stretched it out in front of me, making sure not to bend it. In times like these, I'd learned over the years that it was just as important to keep the weight off as it was to keep the stupid thing straight.  
  
Once I got myself settled, I paused and looked the brat up and down. "So. You're...what, seventeen?" I was pretty sure that he wasn't. But it was always better to over-estimate. Kids were...touchy about that sort of thing.  
  
The kid smirked and puffed his chest out a little. "Sixteen."  
  
 _Works every time._ I leaned forward slightly and gave him a devilish grin. "So. I was risking my neck on a nightly basis when you were probably still in diapers." I shrugged and leaned back on the futon. "I've got my own share of demons." See, demons were demons for a reason, and exorcism was never permanent. But that was probably something he didn't need to hear right now.  
  
The kid looked at me searchingly from where he sat, curled up in the blanket. "What do you do," he finally asked, his voice quiet, "when they get bad?"  
  
I let out a short, harsh laugh. When I was younger, when I was still in Gotham, the answer would've been simple. Suit up and release my pent-up tension on the city. Or in the gym. Work things out with my body until I couldn't stand. Now...it was a little bit harder. Times - and bodies - changed and all that. But the basic answer was still the same. "For me, it was physical activity." As long as the brat didn't notice the tense I was using, I'd be fine. "I'd workout, train, whatever it took," I shrugged. Heck, it didn't even matter if I was still asleep at the time. It was the activity that counted, not how conscious I was.  
  
"And when you couldn't find a way to do that?" he asked quietly, gesturing wordlessly around us. 'Like now?' He didn't have to ask out loud. I knew what he meant.  
  
Damn, this was one stubborn kid. I shook my head. "There's always a way, kid. You just gotta find it."  
  
He nodded thoughtfully. I could almost see the cogs turning .  
  
"You'll get there, kid." I gave him a light smile and patted his shoulder. "Just take it one day at time." And speaking of one day at a time, I needed to see to this stupid knee of mine while I was awake. Or else I'd never get back to sleep.  
  
I sighed and levered myself up off the futon. It wasn't easy. They always made the darned things closer to the ground than they needed to. Suddenly, I was glad that the kid had taken it before I could. If the way I was feeling now, after just sitting on it for a few minutes, was any indication, sleeping on it wouldn't have been very pleasant. At all.  
  
I finally stood up, and pain shot up through my knee clear up to my brain. Suddenly, taking care of my body had become a very high priority.  
  
Very conscious of the kid's appraisal - who was distinctly _not_ asleep but still curled up in his blanket and looking at me - I made sure I didn't show any reaction to the pain. Not even to that oh-so-pleasant first step, and all the ones after that, as I tried to work out the stiffness and tenderness that comes from sitting still for an extended period. About time all that Bat-training in showing no emotion came in handy for _something_.  
  
I left the kid behind me and limped - very carefully - towards the bathroom. Hopefully they'd have in there what I needed.  
  
"What are you doing?" the teen spoke up.  
  
"Walking, at the moment," I shot back. So it was more like limping than walking, but still. Nowhere did it say in this truce I had with Barbara that I had to be nice to the brat all the time.  
  
"Yeah, I can see _that_." And I could sense the eye-roll from here. "But what are you _doing?_ "  
  
Yep. Darn kid was stubborn all right. Bet it'd be worth the price of admission to see him lock horns with Bruce. If he had the spine for it. Unfortunately for him, I was even more stubborn than both of them. "I'm looking for something," I called over my shoulder. Finally, I was there. I hauled myself inside the bathroom and pulled the door mostly shut. For some things, I really didn't want to be disturbed.  
  
The trouble was, this brat of a kid had obviously never taken lessons in manners. "Such as?" he prompted from the other side of the door. Obviously he'd made his way over while my back was turned. At least he still had the decency not to come inside.  
  
I ignored him and started going through the cupboards. I needed something for the knee, or else I could give up on the idea of walking. At all. As it was, I wasn't looking forward to the process of getting my jeans down far enough down to check the damage. It was going to be long, slow, and excruiciating.  
  
Right now, I'd settle for finding some painkillers. If I was lucky, there'd also be a first-aid kit with anti-inflammatories and bandages. But that'd be pushing my luck and I'd long since learned that I shouldn't...  
  
Then again, every so often...  
  
Right there, in the cupboard under the sink, was a metal box with a red cross on the top. "Ah hah!" I would've lept for joy if I'd been able. But I couldn't, so I settled for grabbing it on my way down to the floor. A quick glance over them showed me that it had what I needed.  
  
Satisfied, I started to lower my jeans. And cursed. A lot.  
  
 _Long, slow, and excruciating... Yeah...why did I have to be so damn accurate?_  
  
I was already exhausted by the time I got my jeans down far enough...and quite glad that I'd already grabbed the first-aid kit. There was no already I'd be able to manage it now. I had to force myself to take a look at my knee.  
  
It was ugly, even to me. And I'd seen my knee in a lot of different states. But at least this was one stage of ugly I'd seen before. Although this time, there was only me and my skill to fix it - the kid _so_ did not count.  
  
Painkillers would have to come _after_ I was finished.  
  
Yeah. This was going to be _so_ much fun.  
  
See, because of how the knee was originally injured, it had this tendency to dislocate at will - it's will, not mine. All I could really do for it was pop it back in - joy, oh joy - and wrap it so I could at least walk a little. Because there was absolutely no way I was spending the rest of the night in this bathroom.  
  
Bracing myself between the cupboard and the wall, I took hold of my knee and started manipulating it.  
  
Cursed.  
  
Swore.  
  
Saw black dots.  
  
And grabbed the wall to support myself when I could finally breathe again. My entire body was sweating, my vision was blurry, my hands were slippery, and I was shaking so badly that I could barely keep my grip on the bandages. But the joint was back in place - thank goodness, because I was _not_ doing that again by myself. Once a lifetime was enough. Besides, I still had to wrap the damned thing.   
  
_Gghh . . . someone remind me_ never _to do that again._  
  
It was more of a relief than I cared to admit when I finally managed to finish with the bandages and take the painkillers. They weren't much; just some codeine tablets. But oh...sweet bliss. No more screaming pain trying to take out my brain. It's on nig— days like these that I had to remind myself that I'd worked hard to keep this leg - and that amputation was _not_ an option in my line of work.  
  
I was just starting to feel somewhat human again when I heard the knock on the door, and swallowed the unprintable words I wanted to say. "Yeah? Who is it?"  
  
It was the kid. Of course. "You okay? Can I come in?"  
  
 _Oh, give me a break._ I looked down, and found I had a ready excuse. I'd forgotten to pull up my jeans again before taking the painkillers. "Not ready. Give me a minute." Or two. Or five.  
  
Or maybe a lifetime. But that might be asking too much.  
  
It was. There was a knock at the door. Again. "It's been a minute." And the kid had the whine down pat. No wonder he and Babs got along so well.  
  
"And?"  
  
"Are you ready now?"  
  
" _No_." When in trouble...use monosyllables. Much easier to conceal pain. Getting dressed shouldn't have to be so hard.  
  
Pause. "What about _now?_ "  
  
I didn't bother replying.  
  
He bashed his fist on the door. "Hey! I wanna talk to you!"  
  
Finally presentable, I hauled myself to my feet with the aid of the nearby bench, and yanked open the door. I caught the boy with his hand on the handle, no doubt about to turn it. He fell into a heap at my feet, and I was in no mood - or shape - to pick him up. I smiled down at him. "I'm ready now. But I guess that wasn't what you wanted, was it?"  
  
He stared up at me. Obviously, he had no reply.  
  
So I just limped my way back to the couch, determinedly ignoring him the entire way. I collapsed back into the couch more than sat down, and barely had enough time to pull the blanket over me before I was out again...  
  



	15. Listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick. The cat. That night. Bruce. Death. Not necessarily in that order. :)

Waking was, for once, a slow process.  
  
Blinking sluggishly at the sunlight, I stretched gently under the blanket. My muscles were stiff and achy, like I'd been asleep for...ages. And my knee only gave me a low murmur of pain when I shifted position, like it too hadn't moved for at least a day.  
  
At least I was feeling much more rested. If I needed to, I could easily go for another four or five days without sleep. If I needed to. I really hoped I wouldn't have to, of course. Being exhausted at the end was never pleasant.  
  
It wasn't that I was insomniac...it was just that I didn't need much sleep. Never had.That'd probably change as I got older - then again, it might not. Right now, tho', it worked in my favor. Although I usually tried to time my 'crashes' for more convenient times. If there was such a thing.  
  
'Convenient' as in 'making sure I was sure I was alone'.  
  
Speaking of which...  
  
A quick glance around revealed that yes, I _was_ alone. The kid was gone. To be honest, I wasn't surprised. Given how bad his dream had seemed, I'd have been surprised if he'd gotten much sleep after it. What _did_ surprise me was that I'd slept through his departure, and that it was just as light as when I'd fallen asleep. It couldn't have been that short a time... Unless...  
  
I glanced at my watch, and felt even more surprise. Not to mention gratefulness that I'd insisted on getting a watch that gave me the date as well as the time.  
  
There was the same amount of light in the room, because I'd slept for twenty-four hours straight.  
  
Well...damn. How about that?  
  
I knew I'd been exhausted...but I hadn't realized I'd been _that_ exhausted. It'd been a long time since I'd done _that_ \- or let my guard down long enough to sleep for so long in a strange place. I really must have been tired. Ah well, not much I could do about it now. Past was past.  
  
Yawning a little, I pushed down the blanket and sat up. While rubbing the sleep-crud out of my eyes, I gave a little idle thought to cleaning myself up in the bathroom. But that would also mean finding my car and the overnight bag I'd packed...which would also mean walking on the leg I'd spent a night resting...  
  
Nah. Too much effort.  
  
They'd all just have to put up with the stubble on my face.  
  
It was only when I moved to sit on the edge of the couch that my eyes fell on the duffel bag sitting beside the couch...with the cane perched on top of the bag. I recognized them instantly. The duffel bag was the overnight bag I'd packed before I left my apartment, and the cane was mine.  
  
What was disconcerting was that _both_ items had been in my car when I'd fallen asleep, and I definitely _had not_ been down to get them. Well, that, and I'd just been thinking about them.  
  
It was then that I noticed the note sitting atop the cane. I leaned over, picked it up, and read it. Twice.  
  
  


>   
> _My mysterious bedside stranger_
> 
> _I popped in to see you yesterday with the schedule we'd decided on, but you were still asleep. I borrowed your keys so I could find your car and bring your things up for you. I thought you might like to refresh yourself when you woke up, and decided to save you the long trip down to your car._
> 
> _Take care of yourself, kit._
> 
> _Regards_
> 
> _Selina_  
> 

  
  
  
I read it a third time to make sure.  
  
Even if she hadn't signed it, the purple cursive script and the little doodle of a cat's paw in a corner were kind of a give-away. I had to smile anyway. _She called me 'kit'..._ I knew Selina - Catwoman - well enough to know her quirks. 'Kit' was what she called those she'd decided to take under her wing, no matter what. Once you were one of her kits - short for kitten, I supposed - you were 'one of hers' for life. In a way, I was flattered and warmed by the term of endearment. She'd decided I was 'one of hers' within moments of meeting me. It was a far cry from the welcome I'd received from the others.  
  
That was why I decided I didn't mind that she'd invaded my space, picked my pocket, and taken my keys. She'd left a _note_ and told me that she'd done it, and why. Selina, in all the time I'd known here, never left notes after a theft. She was a master thief. At her level of thievery, it was just _wrong_ to leave notes. Better for the target not to know than to be obvious. If she discarded her thieving ways for you, then you knew you'd made it onto her short-list of people who _really_ meant something to her.  
  
The only thing that disturbed me about the whole thing, in fact, was that she'd managed to get close enough to me to pick my pocket. Damn it, I really had to work on my people-radar, especially now that I was in Gotham.  
  
Selina was right about one thing, though. I _really_ needed a shower. Yeah. A shower was _definitely_ a good idea. If _I_ could smell it, I was probably more than a little ripe.  
  
I picked up the overnight gear with a grateful smile. Selina was also right about my not wanting to attempt the long trip down to pick up the rest of my gear. The duffel bag would tide me over for now, and the cane was actually just what I needed to help me with my bad leg. Bag in one hand and leaning heavily on the cane, I made my way to the bathroom and shut the door.  
  
Time to make myself feel more human again.  
  
I opened the door about an hour later, feeling a lot better, but I still kept a firm grip on the cane. I really had done too much walking yesterday, and the knee hadn't been a pretty sight. If I could stay off a lot more today and in the next few days, I _might_ be able to stop using the cane after that. In the meantime, though, it was pretty much going to be a permanent part of my ensemble.  
  
I stopped short a few steps out of the bathroom and let the bag drop to the floor.  
  
Selina was waiting for me, sitting casually on the couch. I couldn't help but notice that she'd folded the blanket I'd used and put it to one side. Her gaze flicked down to the cane, and then stayed resolutely on my face as she smiled warmly. "Hey there."  
  
I tilted my head to the side and nodded a greeting back. "Hey, yourself."  
  
She grinned and bounced a little on the couch. "Out of curiosity, how'd you sleep on this? It's really hard. And lumpy."  
  
"With my eyes closed. And it's nice to meet you too," I drawled. "I bet you greet everyone in semi-deserted patient lounges like that."  
  
The grin vanished. Large green eyes blinked at me from the other side of the room. "No. Just suspicious types hanging around bedsides."  
  
I groaned. This again. "I'm _not_ suspicious. And by the way, I have a _name_. I even have a _life_." So what if the operative phrase now was more like ' _had_ a life and name'? She didn't need to know that. "I wish people would have the decency to _remember_ that."  
  
This time the smile was a sympathetic. "Oops. Hit a sore nerve, did I?"  
  
I sighed and let the frustration go. "Not really. And for the record? I've slept on worse." Carefully, I leaned down and picked up my bag again, then made my way over to sit at the other end of the couch. "Hope I haven't kept you waiting long," I added, once I was settled.  
  
"Nope," she shook her head. "It took me a while to do what I needed to do." She stretched out a hand into the space between us; a set of keys dangled from one outstretched and perfectly manicured finger. I recognized the key-chains instantly.  
  
"These are yours, I believe."  
  
Of course they were. I raised an eyebrow at her, silently asking why she hadn't returned them earlier.  
  
Apparently, she was as immune to the Bat-eyebrow as ever, and simply smirked. "You were parked in the wrong spot. I paid your fees for you and moved your car to a long-term parking area." Her elegantly-arched eyebrow indicated that she knew exactly how much of a favor she had done for me. The Joker had _nothing_ on Gotham's parking police.  
  
"Oh." I felt guilty for my suspicions as I took back my own keys. "Thanks, Selina. I mean that. I didn't intend to stay as long as I have." I brushed a hand through my hair. "I'll pay you back when I can." When I had more to my - current - name than a passport, a duffel bag, a cane, and a signet ring from Bruce. And a rental car I was _so_ trying not to think about. At some point, I obviously needed to think about buying my own wheels. Not to mention more clothes and a place to actually _live_.  
  
She shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Least I can do for the man who's letting me stay with Bruce." Her smirk changed to a grin. "But that car?" She wrinkled her nose. "Rental _disaster_. You shouldn't even be able to _drive_ it."  
  
"I know," I sighed the sigh of the put-upon. "But it was what I could get at short notice."  
  
Her good mood vanished again and she leaned back and crossed her arms. "Okay. Now that we have the social niceties out the way," she quickly flashed a smile that was all teeth and wasn't friendly, "how about you tell me what the prodigal son is doing back in Gotham when he's supposed to be _dead_?"  
  
I stared at her a long moment, wondering in the analytical part of my brain where, exactly, I had lost control of this conversation. "Dead?" I asked faintly.  
  
She nodded firmly. "Dead." She leaned over slightly and traced a long nail up the couch near my arm in a subtle threat. "Richard Grayson...is dead."  
  
I cleared my throat and tried again. "Is that what he told you?" At least this time the question came out stronger.  
  
"If by 'he' you mean Bruce, then yes." She threw me an unreadable look. "I also read your obituary in the paper. And attended your memorial. It was very...tasteful. Very touching, in its own way."  
  
The morbid part of me had to ask. "Was it raining?"  
  
Selina gave me a look, but answered anyway. "No. It was actually sunny."  
  
Oh. That was...probably going to make fully reactivating the identity a bit harder. I shook my head a little and refocused. "But then— How did you...?"  
  
"You left your registration papers with the rental agency in the car." She shrugged shamelessly. "And I'm a curious person. I wanted to know the name of the mysterious man by Bruce's side. Besides, 'my mysterious bedside stranger', while it does kind of roll off the tongue, really _is_ too long of a moniker. So I looked around a little after I changed your parking spot." Then she glared at me - rather effectively. Obviously, someone had been spending too much time with Alfred. "And I'm still waiting on an explanation for that obituary-thing."  
  
I sucked in a deep breath. It had been a long time since someone in Gotham had asked for my side of the story. Like maybe... _never_. The Titans didn't count. They were _supposed_ to ask, and they hadn't exactly been in Gotham at the time anyway. The way she was looking at me - glares aside - warmed my heart in a way that was hard to describe. It crossed my mind, then, that maybe, if someone had done this all those years ago, it would've made the difference between running and staying. I looked away for a moment to hide the wetness priking at the corners of my eyes. "Long or short version?"  
  
"Short will do." She flashed another smile, one that was all teeth. "We can work our way up to the long version."  
  
"Okay." Okay. _You can do this, Grayson. You can do this._ I shoved the pain back down where it wouldn't show and made myself turn back in her direction. I owed her that much, to at least be _looking_ at her as I spilled the story everyone wanted to know. "Short version. Right." I looked up at her and meet her gaze steadily. "I was pushed."  
  
"Oh...kaay. A little longer, please."  
  
I forced a breath into my lungs. "You...heard...about that night? The last night I—Robin appeared on Gotham's rooftops?"  
  
Her eyes widened with dread, sympathy, and then a terrible knowledge. "Kit, everyone's heard about that night," she finally said as gently as she could.  
  
While I appreciated her efforts, and the nickname, they didn't help much. _Everyone knows..._ At least it meant I didn't have to rehash it aloud. My dreams were enough. I swallowed hard and looked away again. _That's...too much._ If I had to talk about it, it was going to be easier looking at something...a little less emotive than her eyes. As if any of this was going to come out in any way other than painfully and slowly. "Yeah...well... When I managed to escape and get back home... It...wasn't good. B—Batman was livid. I—He was...really mad. I'd never seen him so...unhinged before."  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her looking compassionately at me, and I wondered vaguely what her experience with Bruce - Batman - had been before shoving the thought away. It was too much to contemplate.  
  
"What happened?" she asked softly.  
  
I still couldn't look at her. "I—We... It was—bad." I snorted. As if that covered what had happened. "I was...injured already, and—he... I don't know why, but..."  
  
"And..." she prompted, gently laying a hand on my shoulder.  
  
"He...argued," I said finally. It was as good a word as any for what happened. There weren't really words enough to describe it. I shrugged. "I—It—got worse...from there. He—In the end, he...he told me...to...to leave... So I— I did. I had...friends...who...nursed me back to health."  
  
"And...your leg..."  
  
I nodded. I wasn't surprised that she'd noticed the knee injury; she had, after all, given me the cane from the car. "It's...one of the legacies of both events, yeah." I shrugged, and stared at the knee in question. "Let's just say that...not quite everything...managed to return to one-hundred percent fitness." That was putting it mildly. There were _reasons_ I didn’t go out "at night" anymore, and my knee was only one of them.  
  
Selina nodded finally and seemed to come to a decision. "In that case, kit, I feel a lot better about giving you this." She handed over a sheet of paper.  
  
Reading it gave me time enough to quietly pull myself together.  
  
It was the roster for Bruce-watching. It included me, Selina, and Barbara everyday, and Alfred as well on the weekend. I also couldn't help but notice that I had all the night-time shifts. It was a relief, in a way. It meant that no one was expecting me to have time for the "night-life" activities.  
  
Thank goodness for small mercies.  
  
I finally looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. In the end, I only had one question. "Why does Alfred only do the weekends?"  
  
Selina waved a hand dismissively. "Alfred simply said the weekends were all he could spare. Besides, he does have that mansion of Bruce's to look after, not to mention that little kid of yours during the week."  
  
I openly rolled my eyes. "He's not my kid."  
  
She shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry. He's been hanging around and asking everyone about you every other sentence. I assumed there was some sort of connection."  
  
My only connection with him would be my hands around his neck. I smiled at her anyway. "Never heard of him or seen him until I came here yest—two days ago." Almost forgot I'd been asleep for an entire day for a moment there. Then I frowned. "Hang on. You said he's been asking about me?"  
  
"Uh huh. Can't shut him up about you. I even contemplated gagging him with duct tape at one point." She smiled at me. "Of course, now that I know who you actually are, I think the little tyke is endearing. In a cute-little-stalker-ish sort of way."  
  
I grinned. Lady after my own heart. Too bad she was already taken. "The brat told me - to my face, no less - that he hadn't heard of me before I turned up."  
  
Selina raised one shoulder and smiled enigmatically. "Then that tells you that the child is a manipulative liar as well as stubborn and determined to get what he wants...whatever that is."  
  
I tucked the sheet of paper into the inside pocket of my jacket. "I couldn't agree more. And the roster's fine as it is." I paused a moment. "Speaking of recent events, anything happen while I was asleep?"  
  
"Quite as a church mouse. Relatively."  
  
I blinked. "Relatively?"  
  
"There were...some objections to my taking your shift for you while you were sleeping." Her grimace left no doubt as to who had voiced the objections. "But when I pointed out that you were still asleep, and both the nurses and I had no intention of waking you until you woke up naturally, the objections ceased."  
  
I nodded. "And...Bruce?"  
  
"No change." Her long fingers fiddled with the zipper of her jacket. "I want to...thank you for that, too. For letting him be." Her eyes were large and warm as she looked up at me. "Especially now, now that I know how...huge that must have been for you. Even now, he's not exactly an easy man to get along with."  
  
I swallowed and nodded again. "Then, how do you... Why did you...?"  
  
"...Say 'yes'?" she finished, and shrugged. "I love him." She gave a low, delighted laugh. "Despite his quirks and foibles, I love him. I love him because of them. It's complicated." She sobered and gave me a sympathetic look. "I'd say he's changed since you knew him, but I don't think that'd help much."  
  
"You're right. It doesn't." Sighing heavily, I levered myself to my feet. We were overdue for a subject change. "Speaking of helping, whose shift is it for coma-watching?"  
  
"LB's, but it'll be mine in about five minutes."  
  
Considering it'd take me about that long to get there given how limber I was feeling, that wasn't much time. "Then how about I take your shift for you, since you helped me with mine yesterday?"  
  
"You don't have—"  
  
"Yes, I do." I smiled down at her warmly. "Come on, Selina. We're practically family now. Let me do this for you."  
  
A slow smile crept over her face. "Yes, you're right. We _are_ family, in our own way." She grinned, then. Knowing Selina, no doubt she was already thinking of ways to tease Barbara with the family thing. "In that case, I accept."  
  
Personally, I didn't care _what_ she did with the information. Although I did draw the line at dancing on rooftops and shouting it out to the world. I _liked_ my privacy.  
  
All I really wanted was to pay her back for helping me. I'd learned the hard way not to be beholden to anyone if I could help it. Besides, not only did I need some time alone to absorb all that Selina had told me, but I needed time to deal with the emotional repercussions of everything that had just happened. There were _reasons_ I hadn't told anyone about certain things for so long.  
  
In the end, I just shrugged vaguely, smiled a goodbye, and made myself scarce. I had a long walk ahead of me, and I needed to get going. Especially if I was going to get there in five minutes or less.  
  



	16. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking over someone's shift should never be so complicated.

If I ever live to be a hundred, I will never know what made me knock on the door to Bruce's room. Instead of sitting down – _again_ – like I really wanted to, I was still standing in the corridor, knocking on the door to a room I had the right and authority to enter whenever I wished. Yeah. It was obviously par for the course, the way my week was going. But something inside me was telling me to knock, and experience had taught me to trust those instincts.  
  
My life was so weird.  
  
Obeying my instincts paid off, though. In dividends.  
  
"Come in, Sel," called a voice from within. It was Barbara, sounding much more welcoming than I'd ever heard her – perhaps because she usually seemed to be _that close_ to shouting at me. It made me wonder if her Ice Queen routine _was_ just for me. That, and if her 'Sel' was my 'Selina', and exactly how those two had managed to fix their relationship so quickly if it was.  
  
Testing my theories, I walked into the room. Okay, so it was more like limping and leaning heavily on the cane. Semantics.  
  
"Oh. It's you."  
  
Definitely not as, well, icy, as the first time she'd said something like that to me, so the knocking thing probably had merit. I also caught a glimpse of something – too quick to define – in her eyes, and an aborted movement of her head, as if she'd gone to look around me before she'd schooled herself back to stillness. She was probably looking for Selina...and it gave me an idea of how to proceed.  
  
I cleared my throat and offered her a cautious smile. "Sorry Selina's not here. I know it's her shift next, but since she took a shift for me earlier, I offered to take this one."  
  
Barbara sighed and waved her hand. "Don't worry about it. She said you might do something like that." She gave me a tentative smile of her own. "I, um, guess I should thank you for forcing Selina and me to finally get along."  
  
Okay...this was strange. And a little creepy. Somewhere along the line, while I'd been sleeping, not only had Barbara's view of me warmed considerably, but she'd also apparently fixed her relationship with Selina.  
  
Was it just me, or had the world turned on its head?  
  
 _Just accept it, Grayson. Figure it out later._  
  
Realizing with a start that Barbara was starting to look at at me strangely – well, more strangely than normal – I pasted a more genuine smile on my face. "Don't worry about it. Happy to help."  
  
Okay. It was lame. My excuse was that it was short notice. I just hadn't expected to be thanked – not by Barbara. Not by anyone, really. I mean, I hadn't really _done_ anything. If those two had fixed whatever rift had opened up between them, it was all their own doing.  
  
Her piece said, Barbara nodded at me and wheeled herself away from the bed. Apparently, we'd gone back to silence-when-not-fighting.  
  
Oh well. It was nice while it lasted. I shrugged mentally and settled into the chair on the opposite side of the bed, in preparation for my shift. It had a nice view of the windows, bed, _and_ corridor. Suspicious much? Not so you notice.  
  
And then Barbara surprised me yet again. She stopped at the door, a thoughtful look on her face. Then she wheeled herself back inside and shut the door.  
  
Our history being what it was, I braced myself for yet another argument.  
  
That was when she wheeled around to face me. I steeled myself for something else entirely. She was going to be _serious_ , and a serious Barbara was all kinds of dangerous.  
  
Still, Barbara being Barbara, never let it be said she wasn't direct. "Remember that discussion we had, just after the doctor's asked you about Bruce's life-support?"  
  
I snorted inwardly. That was one thing I'd never missed about Gotham: all the euphemisms. Personally, I wouldn't have called it a discussion. It had been more like her conducting an interrogation, and I'd caved under the pressure. _This_ was obviously some weird definition of "discussion" that I hadn't been informed about.  
  
I nodded anyway.  
  
I watched, half-amused, as she shifted somewhat awkwardly in her chair. "Do you...remember what you said then? About why you did it?"  
  
Of course I did. It was hardly a 'discussion' I was about to forget it in a hurry. "Yes Barbara. I remember." I paused a moment, then, just to see what would happen.  
  
She said nothing, but her earnest expression becoming almost pleading.  
  
Oh, so she wanted me to actually repeat the words? Why didn't she just _say_ so? I looked at her steadily and said quietly, "I told you that I saved Bruce because of you. I kept him _alive_ because of you."  
  
She nodded quickly, dare I say, almost thankfully? Perhaps, she really _hadn't_ wanted to say the words. "Did you... Did you _mean_ that? That you...did it for me?"  
  
I nodded once, sharply. "Yeah. I meant it." She should've known me better than to ask that, but then, some people needed both visual and audio confirmation.  
  
Her expression sharpened back into dangerously-serious, for all that her next question was searching...almost plaintive. " _Why?_ "  
  
The emotion behind that question was something I related to. So well, in fact, that for a moment I had to work to get the words out. "Because saying goodbye is never easy, Barb." The old nickname rolled off my tongue, and this time, I let it without trying to hold it back. For old times sake. "It's even harder when the person we're saying it to can't say anything back to us." I paused to breathe. "You weren't ready, then, even if I was."  
  
She stared at me. "But you—that means you—you didn't have to—"  
  
"Yes. I was. And I did." I breathed again. "When you're ready, Barb. Just let me know, and I'll give the word when you're done."  
  
She stared at me for a long time before she spoke again. "I don't know if I can. Let him go, I mean." Her eyes were beginning to glisten. "I might never be ready."  
  
I swallowed past a lump in my own throat. "All I know is..." I nodded at the shape on the bed. "The Bruce I remember wouldn't want to be stuck on a bed with atrophying muscles." Because while the nurses did their best, not even all the physical therapy in world could ever keep up with the rate of deterioration – as I was sure she knew.  
  
I heard her breathing hitch, so I turned to stare at Bruce and his ventilator. At least, I could give her that much. The ' _hugh-pugh_ '  noise sounded like Bruce agreed with me on that, too.  
  
I looked back over again when her breathing calmed.  
  
She was watching at me, calmer than before, once again offering that tentative smile. "I'll... I'll think about what you said. No guarantees, but...I'll think about it. And...thanks."  
  
With that, she was out the door and gone.  
  
I just sighed, shook my head, and turned back to watching Bruce, who was still doing his best imitation of a still-life portrait. "Well, that was fun," I commented.  
  
Bruce did his ' _hugh-puh_ ' thing on the ventilator. It sounded vaguely sarcastic.  
  
"Oh, like you're one to talk."  
  
Great. Now I was talking to the near-dead. The world _had_ gone mad.  
  
Bruce breathed again. ' _Hugh-pu-h_.'  
  
I shot forward in the seat. It took another eternity of waiting for the sound to repeat, but it was definitely there. I jammed my finger into the call button, and glared at the figure on the bed. "You'd better make this worthwhile, damn you."  
  
Bruce said nothing, of course. And the only thing I could do was listen to the sound of the ventilator. And _wait_.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness. My town went through a disaster. Homes condemned all over the place. We escaped the worst of it, but the clean up work around here is epic. :(


	17. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ventilator...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breathe in. Breathe out. Now go...

If ever I'd had any doubts about the value of Bruce's money, pressing that button dispelled them.  
  
Within moments, a tidal wave of doctors and nurses descended on the room. They pushed me aside without so much as a ‘how do you do’. They didn’t even ask me why I’d pushed the damned button in the first place.  
  
And for the record, trying to 'hover quietly' around the edges of a commotion like _that_ , was very hard to do when you're using a cane. I had to work hard to keep from tripping someone with the stupid thing, or we _both_ would've ended up on the floor.  
  
It didn't take me long to suspect, however, that pressing the button had simply confirmed what everyone else had already known, that my presence here was merely perfunctory. Especially when I started hearing the medical staff tossing around terms like "telemetry" and "silent alarms".  
  
That was all well and good, but, yeah. Silent alarms about _what?_  
  
I tightened my grip on the cane, forcing myself to be still and silent in my little corner of the room. If this was some kind of emergency, I didn't want to intrude on the doctors' turf. That would have been like interrupting a prize fight and expecting not to get hit.  
  
Eventually, my patience was rewarded.  
  
It seemed like an eternity after the panic had started, but I knew intellectually that it had only been a few minutes, if that. It took that long for a nurse to come towards me, finally peeling herself away from the whirl of motion that surrounded Bruce's bed.  
  
She had a smile for me, but I could see the shadow under in her eyes. "Mister Grayson, right?"  
  
I nodded, and dispensed with the pleasantries. "How is he?"  
  
The smile slipped a fraction. "Doctor Jak tells me that you're the one with the medical authority, correct?"  
  
I nodded again, and did my best not to show my impatience.  
  
The nurse dropped the smile completely. "Then I suggest you use that authority of yours to get every member of that family in here right away, sir. Before we lose him completely."  
  
I didn't have the heart to tell her that at this hour, I didn't have the faintest idea where to find anyone – let alone where to start looking. But she turned away and went back to her patient before I could even begin to voice the many objections circling around my head.  
  
Thus it was that in rather short order, I found myself outside Bruce's room, wanting to find the others, but not being able to. It was typical: they inundated me when I _didn't_ want them, but when I _did_ , I couldn't find _anyone_.  
  
I tightened my grip on the cane and rubbed my face with my other hand. It looked like I'd better find the modern version of a bat-signal, and _fast_.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. Its short. In my defense. It was simply too good a place to end the scene to resist. Also, my Dick voice stopped there, and well, yeah. Enough said.


	18. Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The modern-day bat-signal...works both ways.

I think the numbness hit me first. 

It was something of a relief, actually, to _not feel_ , after everything that had been going on. I'm not quite sure how long I stood there in the corridor outside Bruce's room, just staring. I couldn't think. 

The medical term for it was probably 'shock'. Me, I called it 'numb'. 

Was it clichéd to say that I didn't know what to do? What to feel? 

At some point I realized that I should move away from the doorway, and wandered away. Down towards the patients' lounge, where I'd had that discussion-talk-thing with the kid. On a futon. Which, come to think of it, was also where Selina had found me again. On a futon. 

Yeah. 

If I were anyone else, I'd probably have a thing against futons by now. 

The only thing that truly registered, when I finally got there though, was that the place was empty. No "family", not of Bruce's, nor of any other patients. If there were any other patients on this level. I rather suspected that Wayne's people had commandeered the entire floor, because I'd only seen people associated with Bruce around here. 

Security reasons, no doubt. Personally, I really wished they hadn't made the effort. What I wouldn't have given for someone to talk to right then - someone who wasn't tied up in this whole...family thing. 

Still, there was one thing that managed to penetrate my thoughts. _Coffee. Nectar of the gods._ I found the makings on a small table near the window. Better still, it was _coffee machine_ coffee, which meant _real_ coffee beans, not that instant...trash. Going through the process of making a cup helped to settle my nerves, and actually taking a sip unknotted something deep inside me that I hadn't even been aware was tied. 

At least, it made the thought of getting in contact with Barbara again a little bit more bearable. 

I wasn't ashamed to admit that I savored that cup of coffee. _Genuine_ coffee. I took small sips and allowed the flavor to roll around my mouth a few times before I swallowed. A small pleasure. It was also a procrastination, and one that didn't last very long. 

I had half a cup to go by the time I had mustered up enough 'liquid courage' to get out my cell phone and consider dialing. It took me another quarter cup to actually go through with it. 

Listening to the dial-tone, I spared a second to wonder if Barbara - Oracle - had changed her phone number. It would certainly be an awkward moment if she had. Which was probably why I tensed when someone finally picked up. 

"Hello." The voice was female, but beyond that... Well, I thought it could be Barbara, but with the phone-line's distortion, I also knew that could be just wishful thinking. 

I forced myself to breathe, knowing that I was the one taking all the chances here. "Barbara?" 

"Yes. Who is this?" she asked, wary and suspicious. She probably didn't get many callers on this line. Not anymore. 

I let go the breath. "It's me. Richard." 

"I— How did you get— Right. Never mind." I could almost _hear_ her pulling herself together. Her next words were far more coherent. "What's happened?" 

Because I'd never call Barbara now to just 'shoot the breeze' like we once did. Not anymore. I closed my eyes to push the pain away and lock it back in its compartment, where it belonged. Then I opened my eyes and answered. "It's Bruce. He's..." 

Comprehension was swift. I didn't have to say the words. Small mercies. "I'll call everyone. We'll be there as fast as we can." 

I nodded, though I knew she'd never see it. "You—You'd better hurry." 

"We will." And then she was gone. Another person in my life who never liked to say 'goodbye'. 

I hung up the phone anyway. 

I had just enough time to finish the coffee - and contemplate how...relatively painless...that call had been - before everything started happening again. To say I was surprised when there was a flash of purplish-green light _right next to me_ was...something of an understatement. 

The next thing that penetrated my consciousness was that I'd dropped my coffee mug. It broke with a satisfying _smash-tinkle_ sound, sending ceramic shards everywhere, as well as the last few drops of my coffee. I found myself tracking the path of one of the larger shards with my eyes, watching as it somehow found enough kinetic energy to travel all the way across the room and skitter under the futon. 

I glanced up—and found myself staring into Barbara's wide eyes. 

I jolted back a step and swore. _So not in my contract._ And then I was grabbing for the cane as my leg threatened to dump me, which would've been the topper on an absolutely _fantastic_ day. I grabbed hold of my balance - and my sanity - with a firm mental grip and refused to let it go. "How did you... What was—" 

"Oh, that. Simple site-to-site transfer." She grinned at me, obviously amused. It'd better not have been at my expense. "Amazing what you can do when you know the right people." 

Right. I narrowed my eyes at that. Her words brought back to my mind a small article I'd read ages ago. _People..._ She probably meant _super_ people, with access to alien tech. Like those rumored JLA transporters. "But how did you—" 

"Oh, please. As if its that hard to lock onto the signal of some unsecured cellphone." 

I stared at her. Then I stared at my phone. It didn't take me long to connect the dots. Somehow, after my last talk to Roy, I'd turned off the scrambler in some sort of absent-minded moment. To be fair, it had been quite a shock to find out I had a price on my head to rival most in the hero community, and the enemies to match. 

What was worse, was that I'd forgotten to check that the scrambler was working before I used the phone again. All I could do, was hope that Oracle had been the only one to tap into that signal - and be grateful that I'd only gone by 'Richard' in that call, and had not used the full name - or the nickname. Or some of my other...aliases. 

Needless to say, I hurriedly activated the scrambler before I shoved the phone back into a pocket. All I really could do was hope that my absent-minded moment wouldn't come back to bite me more seriously in the future. 

Who knows? Maybe I'd be lucky. Maybe I'd get away with it this once. 

Yeah. And I'm the President of America. 

I blew out a hard breath and regathered my wits once more. Internally, though, I reflected that recovering from surprises was getting to be more of a habit than I cared for. "Uh huh." I finally said, aiming for a dry tone and not quite sure I was succeeding. "At least I suppose I can count myself lucky that I was just you, and not the whole family crammed in here." 

At that, she bit her lip and rocked back on her wheels. "Well..." 

I narrowed my eyes at her behind my sunglasses. I had a sinking feeling that I wasn't going to like this. "All right. Out with it. What did you _do?_ " 

I was right. I didn't like it. 

Getting it out of her was half the battle - a bit like pulling teeth. Or something. She'd obviously never experienced the joy of someone saying "No" to her, and meaning it. Either that, or she actually _enjoyed_ arguing with me. 

Perish the thought. (Because, I'd had teeth pulled, and I didn't see the joy.) 

It turned out that not only had they locked onto my cellphone, but they'd also hidden a transponder-thing in Bruce's room and sent the rest of the family straight there, using my phone signal as some kind of piggy back power thing. Barbara had come to me as a kind of advance warning party slash envoy. But what she really was, in my opinion, was a distraction I didn't have time for. 

At that point I didn't wait to hear any more. I didn't even bother with the nurse, who poked her head around the corner of the door-frame, her face pale, no doubt to deliver the latest news - either about the influx of visitors to Bruce's room or about his latest deterioration. 

Instead, I just grabbed my cane and bolted for Bruce's room as fast as my legs could carry me. 


	19. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's come full circle, and everything's still broken.

I had to wonder, about the change in circumstances that made _Bruce_ \- or at least his room - represent some kind of security for me. Like it was a bolt hole to retreat to and lick my wounds. 

How the world had changed. But even as I...retreated, I knew I wasn't making very good time. Not when I could hear my heart pounding with every tap of the cane against the floor - or maybe that was fear. Even money either way. I also knew that with every step, I'd be paying for this later. Heck, I was paying _now_. 

I was going slow enough that Barbara overtook me about halfway along. At least she looked apologetic about it. Also, she had the advantage of _wheels_ over my awkward ambulatory motion. Of _course_ she was going to overtake me at some point. 

That was why I wasn't surprised that, by the time I _finally_ reached Bruce's room, everyone else was clustered around the bed. By 'clustered', I meant packed in so tightly that there was no room for me to see what was going on. And by 'everyone', well, I meant everyone. 

_Everyone._

Not just the "family" I'd gotten used to over the last day or so, but the _extended_ family as well. Which meant the JLA and - I squinted a little to make sure - even some of the JLA reservists. Okay, so they'd been reservists when I'd...left. I had no idea what anyone's status was now - but I had a fair idea that Supes and Wondy were still doing the JLA thing, and that was just for starters. 

I stayed in the corridor. I knew better than to try my welcome with _this_ crowd. 

Said crowd parted a little for Barbara as she approached the bed, so apparently my timing wasn't all _that_ bad. I had the irreverent thought that it was a bit like the parting of the Red Sea, and I mentally shook my head and refocused. 

I didn't have a great view - not when what I was seeing was mainly the backs of peoples' heads - but I what could see was enough. Barbara at the bedside, with Selina. And Bruce. 

_Bruce._

I felt my heart twist within me, and felt the push-pull of flight-and-fight. As much as I wanted to be here for _this moment_ , I knew I didn't really have a right. Not after all this time. Not after the emotional upheaval of this last week. Perhaps the silent truce I'd worked out with Barbara gave me some rights...as did that stupid ring. But I still found myself staying by the door, unable to force myself to go any further. 

When people tell you often enough that you're not wanted, eventually you start listening. 

Perhaps that was for the best, considering what happened next. 

I have to say, first, that I was all too aware that doctors' could be wrong. I was walking, talking, _living_ proof of that. But statistics lied all the time, depending on who was talking, and outliers had a habit of skewing results. I knew _precisely_ how hard it was to get as far I had from where I'd started. From where Bruce was starting. 

The first step was always the hardest. 

Maybe that was why I wasn't as surprised as I could've been when I saw a slit of blue through Bruce's eyelids. Even after everything, he was _waking up_. Either that, or this was his last gasp before he gave up for good. Coma patients did that sometimes. 

The tension in the room rose as those eyelids fluttered. Even I could feel it, and I was barely in the room. Everyone was waiting, holding their breaths, perhaps in sympathy with Bruce - or in tandem with the ventilator, which was still attached. I found myself gripping the doorway as I watched. Yeah, apparently I _was_ emotionally invested in this. I just couldn't figure out why. Or which way I wanted this to go. 

Flicker...flutter...flash of color...flicker...flicker...flutter.... 

I wasn't too worried. Not really. I knew, both from personal experience and from what I'd been told, that this was a process that could go on for a while. Days. Even months. 

Trust Bruce to short-circuit the whole thing. 

His eyes suddenly flew wide open and he went from lying dead still to struggling and fighting. 

There was a moment of perfect stillness before everyone flew into motion and voices started crashing over each other. 

"Grab a limb!"  
"What the—?"  
"Where's the doc?"  
"He's awake!"  
"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock!"  
"Should I get a doctor?"  
"Is anyone even _listening_ to me?"  
"He hit me!"  
"Does it hurt?"  
"Yeah, get a doctor."  
"Each of you. _Grab. A. Limb._ " 

That was both Selina and Barbara snarling out that last bit. In stereo. And just like that, calm descended, as everyone went to grab various flailing limbs. It ended up with three or four on each limb, but, hey, it was the thought that counted, right? And I could see from where I was standing, still rooted to the doorway, that they were all needed. Even Supes was struggling. 

Speaking of Supes... 

"Can someone do something about that vent?" 

"I can. Just step aside a little and give me room— ah, thanks." I blinked. And blinked again. It was - I swear - the most surreal feeling, to watch _Superman_ (even if he was in civilian clothes, I'd know that cowlick anywhere) leaning over the bed and directing the removal of a tube down Bruce's throat. 

It didn't take long. It seemed like they spent more time huddling over Bruce and talking to him than they did fiddling with the tube, but what did I know? I couldn't seem to move away from the damned doorway. I didn't dare. 

Eventually they finished talking - or they removed the tube and settled Bruce. Whatever. All I really knew was that they finally drew away from the bed and resumed standing around. And I finally got another glimpse of him. They'd propped him up on pillows and the tub had been replaced with an oxygen mask - he obviously was still not out of the woods health wise. But he was semi-upright and his eyes were open. It was a marked improvement from just a few days ago, and I'd like to think that we all knew it. 

More to the point, there was a sharp intelligence behind those eyes. I could see it, even from where I was. There was no sign, at all, of brain damage. A part of my heart relaxed at that. 

I should've known better. 

Even as I watched, Bruce was looking around the room. That sharp gaze was lingering on each person, no doubt registering them in his memory... And then it slid off me, as if I were no more than the mold growing in the corner of the bathroom tile. Probably a bit lower. Yeah. The dismissal and disdain were clear. 

Then he got to Selina. And stared. A conversation conveyed in a look. 

Selina smiled softly and leaned over to stroke the stubbly cheek. "Welcome back, Bruce. You've been away a while." 

He blinked up at her, a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth. Or maybe it was a muscle twitch. From where I was standing, it was hard to tell. 

She nodded in answer. "Everyone's here. They're fine." Deep breath. "And my answer is 'yes', by the way." 

The kiss that followed was long and deep. 

I turned away, to give them privacy as much as to hide the pain. _What am I doing here?_

Okay, so I hadn't been expecting a warm welcome, not after everything I'd experienced since I'd stepped off the plane, but I knew now that I'd at least been expecting - hoping - for _something_ from Bruce. Some sign of acknowledgment that I _existed _. Hell, at this point, even a dismissal would've been nice. It would've at least been some sort of attention.__

Instead, there'd been nothing. 

No smile. No blink. Not even a lingering moment as he'd glanced around the room. 

And I was beginning to realize that there never would be. That a piece of _furniture_ would get more reaction out of him than I ever would. 

The realization was as freeing as it was heart-breaking. 

In a way, this was easier. It was, after all, the confirmation I'd been half-expecting all along. 

_This...this was a mistake. I don't belong here._ I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, and shut my eyes to try to hold everything in. It was the culmination of a bad week, where everyone was reading the same page, and, true to form, I felt like I was only just realizing that there were _words_ in the first place. They had their own family here, their own ways of interacting and doing things. And I was outside of it. 

I was outside of _everything._

I knew now that if I stayed, I would be forever on the outside, looking in. I was their outcast. The stranger. The exiled one. The one they laughed at and jeered, whenever they noticed me. And I didn't want that kind of life for myself. 

I didn't belong here. 

It was clear to me now that I never would. 

More to the point, Bruce was _awake_ now. He didn't need me here to make decisions for him – or even to hold onto his precious ring. 

I was not needed. 

Or wanted. 

I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. It did. It ached and throbbed with an intensity that surprised me. Some place deep inside me, it was just twisting the knife in deeper. The only difference was, I'd just gotten better at hiding this kind of soul-deep pain over the years. And what I couldn't hide, I had ways to ignore – to make the pain go away. 

By leaving the scene of the hurt. 

So that's what I did. I left. 

It didn't take much; one backward step, and I was slipping quietly out the door. No one called me back or yelled out a goodbye. That told me all I needed to know about where I stood in their estimations, and just how right I was about my decision. 

It was time - past time, actually - to move on. To burn my bridges before they burned them for me and left me stranded. 

Walking away...wasn't hard. _Knowing_ what it meant... _that_ was harder. This would be the second time I'd walked away, and it really didn't get any easier for the repetition. But I knew that there was no point in staying. I've never made a practice of leaving myself open to unnecessary pain. There was enough pain in life without willingly going out and seeking more. Besides, I knew how to deal with being the one who walked away. What was once more? One more dream that bit the dust? 

I'd walk away, I'd disappear from everyone's lives, and yeah, it would hurt, probably more me than them, and I expected that. What in life didn't hurt? Wait long enough and you could learn to live with it...just like I'd learned to live with a lot of things. 

_Yeah. You just keep telling yourself that, Grayson._

I grimaced and kept walking. If I put a little more weight on the cane or blinked a little more rapidly...well, it was to be expected at times like this. 

The only pause I made was at the patient's lounge, to pick up the duffel bag masquerading as all my current worldly possessions. 

Next stop: the lift, then freedom. 

And I didn't look back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be wrapped up in the epilogue.


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was raining. _Again._ Or maybe it was still raining...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're going to say. That I'm going to leave things hanging. But I did what set out to do - I woke Bruce up. The rest, well, that's what sequels are for. Now, go, enjoy your epilogue/teaser.

It was raining. Again. Or maybe it was still raining.

It was the kind of rain that fell everywhere, got into everything, without mercy. Spattering, pervasive, and downright miserable. Knowing my luck, it was probably the same rainstorm that had been going when I'd first arrived at the hospital. It was that kind of weather. 

All it really did for me was remind me exactly how much I was missing the tropical showers I'd left behind. And my apartment, now collecting dust. Not to mention that sweet motorcycle, never to be ridden again. At least not by me. 

Ah, better times... 

Simpler times. 

I sighed and turned up the collar on my jacket in what I already knew would be a futile hope of keeping the water out – mainly because I could already feel it trickling down my back. Shrugging mentally, I trudged – okay, limped – towards where Selina had left that old beat-up rental car of mine. I knew where it was because I'd seen the car a number of times, through various windows of the hospital. 

It wasn't far. Only half a block and around a corner - but it was a long half block. By the time I'd trudged it, lugging the bag and my own body through the rain, I was thinking only of the shelter the car represented. The thought of finally being dry - and away from everyone - was pure bliss. 

Well, I was thinking of that, and the pain. The pain was never far away. It was the one constant these days. But I knew enough now to take comfort in that. These days, the sound of the cane rhythmically hitting the pavement was my only reliable companion. 

Then I turned the corner. 

I had just enough time to catch a glimpse of my car - waiting for me under a streetlight - when I caught movement in my peripheral vision. From both sides. 

I didn't react. 

Not outwardly, anyway. If there was one thing that came from having grown up in a city, it was that being in the dark was its own kind of evil, and reacting to a perceived threat before it actually happened could be just as dangerous as openly walking inside a dark alley. That wasn't, of course, to say that I couldn't prepare. 

Besides, all I had to do was make it to my car. And, whoever it was might not be headed for me. It could've just been my imagination, from being cooped up inside that hospital for so long. A snarky inner voice snickered about my chances of that being true, with my luck, let alone making it to safety intact. I rolled mental eyes and ignored it. _So not helping, Grayson._ Because it wouldn't have been the first time I'd found myself in this kind of situation since leaving Gotham. 

It was the distinctive _flick-click_ of a switchblade being opened about two yards behind me that made my decision for me. To _hell_ with playing it cool and nonchalant; I'd better start preparing for _war_. I cut my gaze around behind my sunglasses, just to confirm my expectations, and see exactly how badly I was outnumbered. 

Yep. Overwhelming odds, surrounded on all sides... Except for dead ahead, where I had a clear line towards my car. 

Option A was too obvious -- the car was under a streetlight.  
Option B meant they were heading me towards my car, because they'd booby-trapped it.  
Option C meant that they were heading me because it was one less angle they would have to attack me from.  


Needless to say, I didn't like any option. 

So. What to do about it? 

Obvious solution: head towards the car. Two out of three were fairly good odds in this kind of situation. At least with the car at my back, option C would hold, and I hopefully wouldn't have to worry about being attacked from that quarter. And I could deal with option B later -- if I was still alive to worry about it. 

For what it was worth, I made it to the car. 

Of course, that was when they attacked. En-masse. Obviously, this was going to be one giant free-for-all, with me at the center. 

I dropped the duffel and semi-sorta-kicked it under the car. Another thing to worry about later. With about forty people converging on my position - most of them with weapons - I really couldn't afford distractions. I placed my back against the door, braced my feet, and held my cane at the ready. I couldn't help but smile a little, as I felt the adrenaline begin to flow. 

It didn't take long. 

I had the first three down on the ground - and the switchblade in my possession - in fairly short order. Just because I couldn't do the 'Rooftop Express' thing anymore didn't mean I'd lost all ability to defend myself. I grinned to myself. _Lesson one: never underestimate someone with a cane._

There was one advantage of having the car at my back. It was an extra brace point for me to lean on when I kicked out. And each time a kick connected, I _knew_ someone was going down. _Lesson two: always wear steel-capped boots if you want to kick someone._ That was one lesson that two more people had just learned the hard way. 

It was at this point that I lost my sunglasses. Some lucky jerk got a shot in past my defenses, hit my cheekbone, broke the sunglasses, _and_ sent them flying away from my face. I never saw where they landed, because I was more concerned about hitting him back for the shiner I was sure to have in the morning. If I was going to make it to the morning. At the moment, I didn't really like my odds. 

Six down, only about thirty-four to go. 

Yay. 

Then, the worst thing possible happened. Only thing was, I'd known it was coming. It was why I'd been so quick taking people down. It came about so simply, too. I just put my good leg down wrong and landed badly, maybe hit a puddle or something. All I really knew was that I slipped and lost my footing on that leg, and there was no way I had the strength in my other leg to support myself. I hadn't had that kind of strength in years. 

I was going down, and it was no one's fault but my own. _This_ was why I no longer fought. _Lesson three: the cane is there for a reason._

Once I was on the ground with my legs twisted underneath me, it didn't take long for everyone to pile on. Actually, it was a bit like being the person on the bottom in that old _Twister_ game. Except that there was no colored mat, no timer, and this definitely wasn't a game. 

I've always hated that game. 

In lieu of a deliberate plan, I just lashed out. Everything was fair game. Sometimes, sheer violence could be more effective than planning ahead. 

It worked. For a while. Arm-holds and leg-holds relaxed, which made it even easier to punch, kick, squirm, and twist. I _was not_ going to make it easy for them. Even sleeves and pants got torn - it was pretty easy once you found the seams. Especially when they made the mistake of wearing tee-shirts instead of jackets. 

I think I was on my tenth sleeve when I saw something that just made everything sputter to a stop. 

_That tat. I know that tat..._

That was when everything crystallized. 

That 'tat' belonged to the League of Assassins. This'd just gone from "gang mugging" to "contract hit" and "fighting for my life" kind of thing. More to the point, I _knew_ now how they'd found me. It was the culmination of an unaware moment, an unsecure cellphone, a price on my head, and a past that had finally caught up with me. It was my own fault, and there was no one to blame but myself. 

Not that I had much time to dwell on it. In fact, it seemed like I'd barely had time for the recognition to sink into my brain before I also realized the cost of distractions. This was one prize fight I could not hope to walk away from unscathed. In fact, I barely had time to see that tat, and realize its implications, before something came rushing towards my head. My last coherent thought was to wonder if this was what Bruce had seen too, when he'd been 'mugged'. 

Then, there was only _pain_ , and darkness . . . 

. . . That . . . 

. . . All . . . 

. . . Came . . . 

. . . To . . . 

. . . A . . . 

Stop. 

\------ 

END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this really is the end. I'm definitely ending it here. But Dick's story will continue, and, well, to say any more would be spoiling it.
> 
> TBC in CIRCLE II: Between The Cracks


End file.
